Vrouw  Grobelanr 

AND  HER 
LEADING  CASES 


PFP^EVAL  CT3EON 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

IN  MEMORY  OF 
EDWIN  CORLE 

PRESENTED  BY 
JEAN  CORLE 


Vrouw    Grobelaar 

AND  HER  LEADING  CASES 


Vrouw  Grobelaar 

AND  HER  LEADING  CASES 

BY 
PERCEVAL  GIBBON 

AUTHOR  OF  SOULS  IN  BONDAGE 


NEW  YORK 

McCLURE,  PHILLIPS  &  CO. 
MCMVI 


Copyright,  1906,  by 
McCLURE,  PHILLIPS  &  CO. 

Published,  January,  1906 


TO 
MY  WIFE 


CONTENTS 

FAGI 

UNTO  THE  THIRD  GENERATION  ....        3 

THE  DREAM-FACE 13 

THE  AVENGER  OF  BLOOD 28 

THE  HANDS  OF  THE  PITIFUL  WOMAN    .        .        .      39 

PIET  NAUDE'S  TREK 49 

LIKE  UNTO  LIKE         .         .         .         .         .         .58 

COUNTING  THE  COLORS 65 

THE  KING  OF  THE  BABOONS         .         .         .         -77 

MORDER  DRIFT 99 

A  GOOD  END 117 

VASCO'S  SWEETHEART 130 

THE  PERUVIAN 142 

TAGALASH 156 

THE  HOME  KRAAL 171 

THE  SACRIFICE .200 

THE  COWARD 218 

HER  OWN  STORY 245 


Vrouw    Grobelaar 

AND  HER  LEADING  CASES 


UNTO    THE    THIRD    GENERATION 

THE  Vrouw  Grobelaar,  you  must  know, 
is  a  lady  of  excellent  standing,  as  much 
by  reason  of  family  connections  (for 
she  was  a  Viljoen  of  the  older  stock  herself, 
and  buried  in  her  time  three  husbands  of  esti- 
mable parentage)  as  of  her  wealth.  Her  farms 
extended  from  the  Ringkop  on  the  one  side  to 
the  Holgaatspruit  on  the  other,  which  is  more 
than  a  day's  ride ;  and  her  stock  appears  to  be 
of  that  ideal  species  which  does  not  take  rin- 
derpest. Her  Kafirs  were  born  on  the  place, 
and  will  surely  die  there,  for  though  the  old 
lady  is  firmly  convinced  that  she  rules  them 
with  a  rod  of  iron,  the  truth  is  she  spoils  them 
atrociously;  and  were  it  not  that  there  is  an 
excellent  headman  to  her  kraals,  the  niggers 
would  soon  grow  pot-bellied  in  idleness. 

The  Vrouw  Grobelaar  is  a  lady  who  com- 
mands respect.     Her  face  is  a  portentous  mask 

[3] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

of  solemnity,  and  her  figure  is  spacious  beyond 
the  average  of  Dutch  ladies,  so  that  certain  chairs 
are  tacitly  conceded  her  as  a  monopoly.  The 
good  Vrouw  does  not  read  or  write,  and  having 
never  found  a  need  in  herself  for  these  arts,  is 
the  least  thing  impatient  of  those  who  practise 
them.  The  Psalms,  however,  she  appears  to 
know  by  heart;  also  other  portions  of  the 
Bible;  and  is  capable  of  spitting  Scripture  at 
you  on  the  smallest  provocation.  Indeed  she 
bubbles  with  morality,  and  a  mention  of  "  the 
accursed  thing "  (which  would  appear  to  be  a 
genus  and  not  a  species,  so  many  articles  of 
human  commerce  does  it  embrace)  will  set  her 
effervescing  with  mingled  blame  and  exhor- 
tation. But  if  punishment  should  come  in 
question,  as  when  a  Kafir  waylaid  and  slew  a 
chicken  of  hers,  she  displays  so  prolific  an 
invention  in  excuses,  so  generous  a  partiality 
for  mercy,  that  not  the  most  irate  induna  that 
ever  laid  down  a  law  of  his  own  could  find  a 
pretext  for  using  the  stick. 

She  lives  in  her  homestead  with  some  half- 
dozen  of  nieces,  a  nephew  or  two,  and  a  litter 
t4] 


UNTO    THE    THIRD    GENERATION 

of  grandchildren,  who  know  the  old  lady  to  the 
core,  cozen  and  blarney  her  as  they  please,  and 
love  her  with  a  perfect  unanimity.  I  think  she 
sometimes  blames  herself  for  her  tyrannical 
usage  of  these  innocents,  who  nevertheless 
thrive  remarkably  on  it.  You  can  hardly  get 
off  your  horse  at  the  door  without  maiming  an 
infant,  and  you  can't  throw  a  stone  in  any 
direction  without  killing  a  marriageable  dam- 
sel. They  pervade  the  old  place  like  an 
atmosphere ;  the  kraals  ring  with  their  voices, 
and  the  Kafirs  spend  lives  of  mingled  misery 
and  delight  at  their  irresponsible  hands. 

I  do  not  think  I  need  particularize  in  the 
matter  of  these  youngsters,  save  as  regards 
Katje.  Katje  refuses  to  be  ignored,  and  she 
was  no  more  to  be  overlooked  than  a  tin-tack 
in  the  sole  of  your  foot.  She  was  the  only 
child  of  Vrouw  Grobelaar*s  youngest  brother, 
Barend  Viljoen,  who  died  while  lion-hunting  in 
the  Fever  Country.  At  the  time  I  am  thinking 
of  Katje  might  have  been  eighteen.  She  was 
like  a  poppy  among  the  stubble,  so  delicate  in 
her  bodily  fabric,  and  yet  so  opulent  in  shape 
[5] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

and  coloring.  She  was  the  nicest  child  that 
ever  gave  a  kiss  for  the  asking  (you  could  kiss 
her  as  soon  as  look  at  her),  but  she  was  also 
the  very  devil  to  deal  with  if  she  saw  fit  to  take 
a  distaste  of  you.  I  saw  her  once  smack  a 
fathom  of  able-bodied  youth  on  both  sides  of 
the  head  with  a  lusty  vigor  that  constrained  the 
sufferer  to  howl.  And  I  have  seen  her  come  to 
meet  a  man — well,  me,  with  the  readiest  lips 
and  the  friendliest  hand  in  the  world.  Oh, 
Katje  was  like  a  blotch  of  color  in  one's  life ; 
something  vivid,  to  throw  the  days  into  re- 
lief. 

A  stranger  to  the  household  might  have  put 
down  Katje's  behavior  towards  the  Vrouw 
Grobelaar  as  damnable,  no  less ;  and  in  the 
early  days  of  my  acquaintance  with  the  family 
I  was  somewhat  tempted  to  this  opinion  my- 
self. For  she  not  only  flouted  the  old  lady  to 
her  face,  but  would  upon  occasion  disregard 
her  utterly,  and  do  it  all  with  what  I  can  only 
call  a  swagger  that  seemed  to  demand  a  local 
application  of  drastic  measures.  But  Katje 
knew  her  victim,  if  such  a  word  can  be  applied 
[6] 


UNTO    THE    THIRD    GENERATION 

to  the  Vrouw  Grobelaar,  and  never  prodded 
her  save  on  her  armor.  For.  instance,  to  say 
the  Kafirs  were  overdriven  and  starved  was 
nothing  if  not  flattery — to  say  they  were  spoiled 
and  coddled  would  have  been  mere  brutality. 

With  it  all,  the  Vrouw  Grobelaar  went  her 
placid  way,  like  an  elephant  over  egg-shells. 
Her  household  did  her  one  service,  at  least,  in 
return  for  their  maintenance,  and  that  was  to 
provide  the  old  lady  with  an  audience.  It  was 
in  no  sense  an  unwilling  service,  for  her 
imagination  ran  to  the  gruesome,  and  she 
never  planted  a  precept  but  she  drove  it  home 
with  a  case  in  point.  As  a  result  night  was 
often  shattered  by  a  yell  from  some  sleeper 
whose  dreams  had  trespassed  on  devilish  do- 
mains. The  Vrouw  Grobelaar  believed  most 
entirely  in  Kafir  magic,  in  witchcraft  and 
second  sight,  in  ghosts  and  infernal  possession, 
in  destiny,  and  in  a  very  personal  arch-fiend, 
who  presided  over  a  material  hell  when  not 
abroad  in  the  world  on  the  war-path.  Besides, 
she  had  stores  of  tales  from  the  lives  of 
neighbors  and  acquaintances:  often  horrible 
[7] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

enough,  for  the  Boers  are  a  lonely  folk  and 
God's  finger  writes  large  in  their  lives. 

I  almost  think  I  can  see  it  now — the  low 
Dutch  kitchen  with  its  plank  ceiling,  the  old 
lady  in  her  chair,  with  an  illustrative  forefinger 
uplifted  to  punctuate  the  periods  of  her  tale, 
the  embers,  white  and  red,  glowing  on  the 
hearth,  and  the  intent  shadow-pitted  faces  of 
the  hearers,  agape  for  horrors. 

There  was  a  tale  I  heard  her  tell  to  Katje, 
when  that  damsel  had  seen  fit  to  observe, 
apropos  of  disobedience  in  general,  that  her 
grandfather's  character  had  nothing  to  do  with 
hers.  The  tale  was  in  plaintive  Dutch,  the 
language  that  makes  or  breaks  a  story-teller, 
for  you  must  hang  your  point  on  the  gutturals 
or  you  miss  it  altogether. 

"Look  at  my  husband's  uncle,"  said  the 
old  lady.  "  A  sinful  man,  forever  swearing 
and  cursing,  and  drinking.  His  farm  was 
the  worst  in  the  district ;  the  very  Kafirs  were 
ashamed  of  it  when  they  went  to  visit  the 
kraals.  But  Voss  (that  was  the  name  of  my 
husband's  uncle)  cared  nothing  so  long  as 
[8] 


UNTO    THE    THIRD    GENERATION 

there  was  a  horse  to  ride  into  the  dorp  on 
and  some  money  to  buy  whiskey  with.  And 
he  drank  so  much  and  carried  on  so  wickedly 
that  his  wife  died  and  his  girls  married  poor 
men  and  never  went  to  stay  with  their  father. 
So  at  last  he  lived  in  the  house,  with  only  his 
son  to  help  him  from  being  all  alone. 

"  This  son  was  Barend  Voss,  a  great  hulking 
fellow,  with  the  strength  of  a  trek-ox,  and 
never  a  word  of  good  or  bad  to  throw  away 
on  any  one.  But  his  face  was  the  face  of  a 
violent  man.  He  had  blue  eyes  with  no  pleas- 
antness about  them,  but  a  sort  of  glitter,  as 
though  there  were  live  coals  in  his  brain.  He 
did  not  drink  like  his  father;  and  these  two 
would  sit  together  in  the  evenings,  the  one 
bleared  and  stupid  with  liquor,  and  the  other 
watching  him  in  silence  across  the  table. 
They  spoke  seldom  to  one  another ;  and  it 
would  often  happen  that  the  father  would 
speak  to  the  son  and  get  not  a  word  of 
answer — only  that  lowering  ugly  stare  that 
had  grown  to  be  a  way  with  the  boy. 

"I  think  those  two  men  must  have  grown 
[9] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

to  hate  each  other  in  the  evenings  as  they  sat 
together;  the  younger  one  despising  and 
loathing  his  father,  and  the  father  hating  his 
son  for  so  doing.  I  have  often  wondered  how 
they  never  came  to  blows — before  they  did, 
that  is. 

"  One  morning  old  Voss  rode  off  to  the 
dorp,  and  Barend  watched  him  from  the  door 
till  he  went  out  of  sight  in  the  kloof.  All  the 
day  he  was  away,  and  when  he  came  back 
again  it  was  late  in  the  night.  Barend  was 
sitting  in  his  usual  place  at  the  table  scowling 
over  his  folded  arms. 

"  Old  Voss  had  not  ridden  off  his  liquor  ; 
and  he  staggered  into  the  house  singing  a 
dirty  English  song.  He  had  a  bottle  in  his 
hands,  and  banged  it  down  on  the  table  in 
front  of  his  son. 

"'Now,  old  sheep's  head,'  he  shouted,  'have 
a  drink  and  drop  those  airs  of  yours.' 

"Barend  sat  where  he  was,  and  said  not  a 
word — just  watched  the  other. 

"  '  Come  on,'  shouted  old  Voss  ;  '  I'm  not 
going  to  drink  alone.  If  you  won't  take  it 


UNTO  THE  THIRD  GENERATION 

pleasantly  I'll  make  you  take  it,  and  be 
damned  to  you  ! ' 

"  Barend  sat  still,  scowling  always.  I  dare 
say  a  sober  man  would  have  seen  something 
in  his  eyes  and  let  be.  But  old  Voss  was  blind 
to  his  danger,  and  shouted  on. 

"The  younger  man  kept  his  horrid  silence, 
and  never  moved,  till  the  father  was  goaded  to 
a  drunken  rage. 

"'If  you  won't  drink,'  he  screamed,  'take 
that,'  and  he  flung  a  full  cupful  of  the  spirit 
right  in  the  young  man's  face. 

"  Then  everything  was  in  the  fire.  The  two 
men  fought  in  the  room  like  beasts,  oversetting 
table  and  lamp,  and  stamping  into  the  fire  on 
the  hearth.  Barend  was  mad  with  a  passion  of 
long  nursing,  and  hewed  with  his  great  fists  till 
the  old  man  fell  heavily  to  the  ground,  and  lay 
moaning. 

"  Barend  stood  over  him,  glowering.  '  Swine ! ' 
he  said  to  his  father;  'swine  and  brute!  get 
you  out  of  this  house  to  the  veld.  You  are  no 
father  of  mine.' 

"But  the  old  man  was  much  hurt,  and  lay 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

where  he  had  fallen,  groaning  as  though  he 
had  not  heard. 

" '  I  will  have  you  out  of  this,'  said  the  son. 
'If  you  are  come  to  die,  die  on  the  road.  I 
had  wished  you  dead  for  years.' 

"So  he  wound  his  hand,  with  the  knuckles 
all  over  blood,  in  the  old  man's  white  hair,  and 
threw  open  the  door  with  his  other  hand. 

"  '  Out  with  you  ! '  he  shouted,  and  dragged 
him  down  the  step  and  into  the  yard.  Yes,  he 
dragged  him  across  the  yard  to  the  gate  ;  and 
when  he  unfastened  the  gate  the  old  man 
opened  his  eyes  and  spoke. 

" '  Leave  me  here,'  he  said,  speaking  slowly 
and  painfully.  'Leave  me  here,  my  son. 
Thus  far  I  dragged  my  father.'  " 

***** 

The  Vrouw  Grobelaar,  to  point  a  weighty 
moral,  turned  her  face  upon  Katje.  But  that 
young  lady  was  sleeping  soundly  with  her 
mouth  open. 


[12] 


THE    DREAM-FACE 

"  T  WISH,"  said  Katje,  looking  up  from  her 

I  book — "  I  wish  a  man  would  come  and 
make  me  marry  him." 

The  Vrouw  Grobelaar  wobbled  where  she 
sat  with  stupefaction. 

"Yes,"  continued  Katje,  musingly  casting 
her  eyes  to  the  rafters,  "I  wish  a  man  would 
just  take  me  by  the  hand — so — and  not  listen 
to  anything  I  said,  nor  let  me  go  however  I 
should  struggle,  and  carry  me  off  on  the  peak 
of  his  saddle  and  marry  me.  I  think  I  would 
be  willing  to  die  for  a  man  who  could  do  that." 

The  Vrouw  Grobelaar  found  her  voice  at  last. 
"Katje,"  she  said  with  deep-toned  emphasis, 
"  you  are  talking  wickedness,  just  wickedness. 
Do  you  think  I  would  let  a  man — any  man,  or 
perhaps  an  Englishman — carry  you  off  like  a 
strayed  ewe?" 

"  The  sort  of  man  I'm  thinking  of,"  replied 
[13] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

the  maiden,  "  wouldn't  ask  you  for  permission. 
He'd  simply  pick  me  up,  and  away  he'd  go." 

At  times,  and  in  certain  matters,  Vrouw 
Grobelaar  would  display  a  ready  acumen. 
"  Tell  me,  Katje,"  she  said  now,  "  who  is  this 
man?" 

Then  Katje  dropped  her  book  and,  sitting 
upright  with  an  unimpeachable  surprise,  stared 
at  the  old  lady. 

"I'm  not  thinking  of  any  man,"  she  re- 
marked calmly.  "  I  was  just  wishing  there 
was  a  man  who  would  have  the  pluck  to  do 
it." 

The  Vrouw  Grobelaar  shook  her  head. 
"  Good  Burghers  don't  carry  girls  away,"  she 
said.  "  They  come  and  drink  coffee,  and  sit 
with  them,  and  talk  about  the  sheep." 

"And  behave  as  if  they  had  never  worn 
boots  before,  and  didn't  know  what  to  do  with 
their  hands."  added  the  maiden.  "  Aunt,  am  I 
a  girl  to  marry  a  man  who  upsets  three  cups 
of  coffee  in  half  an  hour  and  borrows  a  hand- 
kerchief to  wipe  his  knees  ?  " 

Now  there  could  be  no  shadow  of  doubt  that 


THE    DREAM-FACE 

this  was  an  open-breasted  cut  at  young-  Fanie 
van  Tromp,  whose  affection  for  Katje  was  a 
matter  of  talk  on  the  farms,  and  whose  over- 
tures that  young  lady  had  consistently  sterilized 
with  ridicule. 

The  Vrouw  Grobelaar  was  void  of  delicacy. 
"  Fanie  is  a  good  lad,"  she  said,  "  and  when  his 
father  dies  he  will  have  a  very  large  property." 

"  It'll  console  him  for  not  adding  me  to  his 
live  stock,"  retorted  Katje. 

"  He  is  handsome,  too,"  continued  the  old 
lady.  "  His  beard  is  as  black  as " 

"  A  carrion-crow,"  added  Katje  promptly. 

"  Quite,"  agreed  the  Vrouw  Grobelaar,  with 
a  perfect  unconsciousness  of  the  unsavoriness 
of  the  suggestion. 

"  And  he  walks  like  a  duck  with  sore  feet," 
went  on  Katje.  "He  is  as  graceful  as  a 
trek-ox,  and  his  conversational  talents  are 
those  of  a  donkey  in  long  grass." 

"All  that  is  a  young  girl's  nonsense,"  ob- 
served the  old  lady.  "  I  was  like  that  once 
myself.  But  when  one  grows  a  little  older  and 
fatter,  and  there  is  less  about  one  to  take  a 
[15] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

man's  eye, — a  fickle  thing,  Katje,  a  fickle  thing, 
— one  looks  for  more  in  a  husband  than  a  light 
foot  and  a  smart  figure." 

Katje  was  a  trifle  abashed,  for  all  the  daugh- 
ters of  her  house,  were  they  never  so  slender, 
grew  tubby  in  their  twenties. 

"  Besides,"  continued  the  worthy  Vrouw, 
*  your  talk  is  chaff  from  a  mill.  It  must  come 
out  to  leave  the  meal  clean.  Perhaps,  after  all, 
Fanie  is  the  man  to  carry  you  off.  I  think  you 
would  not  take  so  much  trouble  to  worry  him 
if  you  thought  nothing  of  him." 

The  Vrouw  Grobelaar  had  never  heard  of 
Beatrice  and  her  Benedick,  but  she  had  a 
notion  of  the  principle. 

"I  hate  him,"  cried  Katje  with  singular 
violence. 

"  I  think  not,"  replied  the  old  lady.  "Some- 
times the  thing  we  want  is  at  our  elbows,  and 
we  cannot  grasp  it  because  we  reach  too  far. 
Did  I  ever  tell  you  how  Stoffel  Struben  nearly 
went  mad  for  love  of  his  wife?" 

"  No,"  said  Katje,  unwillingly  interested. 

"  He  was  something  of  a  fool  to  begin  with," 
[16] 


THE    DREAM-FACE 

commenced  the  Vrouw  Grobelaar.  "  He  chose 
his  wife  for  a  certain  quality  of  gentleness  she 
had,  and  though  I  will  not  deny  she  made  him 
a  good  wife  and  a  patient,  still  gentleness  will 
not  boil  a  pot.  He  was  a  fine  fellow  to  look  at ; 
big  and  upstanding,  with  plenty  of  blood  in 
him,  and  a  grand  mat  of  black  hair  on  top. 
He  moved  like  a  buck;  so  ready  on  his  feet 
and  so  lively  in  all  his  movements.  He  might 
have  carried  you  off,  Katje,  and  done  you  no 
good  in  the  end. 

"  He  was  happy  with  his  pretty  wife  for  a 
while,  and  might  have  been  happy  all  his  life 
and  died  blessedly  had  he  but  been  able  to 
keep  from  conjuring  up  faces  in  his  mind  and 
falling  in  love  with  them.  Greta,  his  wife,  had 
hair  like  golden  wheat,  so  smooth  and  rippled 
with  light;  and  no  sooner  had  he  stroked  his 
fill  of  it  than  he  conceived  nut-brown  to  be  the 
most  lovely  color  of  woman's  hair.  Her  eyes 
were  blue,  and  for  half  a  year  he  loved  them ; 
then  hazel  seemed  to  him  a  better  sort.  I  said 
he  was  a  fool,  didn't  I  ? 

"So  his  marriage  to  Greta  became  a  chain 

[17] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

instead  of  a  union,  while  the  poor  lass  fretted 
her  heart  out  over  his  dark  looks  and  short 
answers.  He  was  shallow,  Katje,  shallow ;  he 
had  the  mere  capacity  for  love,  but  it  was  a 
short  way  to  the  bottom  of  it.  You  will  see  by 
and  by  that  the  men  who  deserve  least  always 
want  most.  Stoffel  had  no  right  to  a  woman 
at  all ;  when  he  had  one,  and  she  a  good  girl, 
he  let  his  eyes  rove  for  others. 

"So  he  went  about  his  farm  with  his  mind 
straying  and  his  heart  abroad.  If  you  spoke  to 
him,  he  paused  awhile,  and  then  looked  at  you 
with  a  start  as  though  freshly  waked.  He  saw 
nothing  as  he  went,  neither  his  wife  with  the 
questions  in  her  eyes  that  she  shamed  to  say 
with  her  lips,  nor  the  child  that  crowed  at  him 
from  her  arms.  He  was  deaf  and  blind  to  the 
healthy  world,  to  all  save  the  silly  dreams  his 
poisoned  soul  fed  on. 

"  Well,  wicked  or  not,  it  is  at  least  unsafe 
not  to  look  where  one  is  going.  This  was  a 
thing  Stoffel  never  did  :  since  he  overlooked  his 
wife,  it  was  not  to  be  expected  he  would  see  a 
strand  of  fencing-wire  on  the  ground.  So  he 
[18] 


THE    DREAM-FACE 

rode  on  to  it,  and  down  came  his  horse.  Down 
came  Stoffel  too,  and  there  was  a  stone  handy 
on  the  place  where  his  head  lit  to  let  some  of 
the  moonshine  out  of  him.  He  saw  a  heaven- 
ful  of  stars  for  a  moment,  and  then  saw  noth- 
ing for  a  long  time.  Save — one  strange 
thing ! 

"  When  life  came  back  to  him  he  was  in  his 
bed  very  sore  and  empty,  and  very  mightily 
surprised  to  see  himself  alive,  after  all.  He 
was  exceedingly  weak  and  somewhat  misty  as 
to  how  it  all  had  happened.  But  one  thing  he 
seemed  to  remember — more  than  seemed,  so 
strong,  so  plain,  so  deep  was  his  memory  of  it. 
He  thought  he  recalled  pain  and  blindness,  and 
a  sudden  light,  in  which  he  saw  a  face  close  to 
his,  a  girl's  face,  pitiful,  tender,  loving,  and 
charged  with  more  than  all  the  sweetness  of 
beauty  that  his  sick  heart  could  long  for.  The 
thing  was  like  one  of  those  dreams  from  which 
one  wakes  sad  and  thoughtful,  as  when  one  has 
overstepped  the  boundary  mark  of  life  and  cast 
an  eye  on  heaven. 

"  It  was  no  face  that  he  knew,  and  he  turned 
[19] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

on  his  pillow  to  think  of  it.  He  could  not  be- 
lieve it  was  a  dream.  '  It  was  a  soul,'  he  said 
to  himself.  'I  knew,  I  was  sure,  that  some- 
where there  was  such  a  face,  but  it  only  came 
to  my  eyes  when  I  was  on  the  borderland  of 
death.  If  ever  God  gave  a  thing  to  a  mortal 
man,  he  should  have  given  me  that  woman.' 

"  So  with  such  blasphemous  thoughts  he 
idled  through  the  days  of  his  sickness,  very 
quiet,  very  weak,  and  kind  to  his  wife  beyond 
the  ordinary.  Of  course  she,  poor  woman, 
knew  nothing  of  the  silly  tale,  and  when  her 
husband  gave  her  those  little  caresses  one 
would  not  withhold  from  an  affectionate  dog, 
she  blessed  God  that  he  was  come  to  himself 
again.  You  see,  Katje  dear,  that  as  a  man  de- 
mands more  than  he  can  claim  with  right,  a 
woman  must  often  make  shift  with  less.  It  is 
well  to  learn  this  early. 

"Stoffel  grew  well  in  time,  and  got  about 
again.  But  the  stone  had  made  less  of  a  dent 
in  his  skull  than  the  face  in  his  heart,  and  he 
was  changed  altogether.  He  served  a  false 
god,  but  served  it  faithfully.  He  was  very 

[20] 


THE    DREAM-FACE 

gentle  and  patient  with  every  one,  almost  like 
a  saint,  and  he  took  infinite  pains  with  the 
work  of  his  farm.  He  would  hurt  no  living 
thing — not  even  so  much  as  lash  a  team  of  lazy 
oxen.  You  would  have  thought  Kafirs  would 
have  done  as  they  pleased  with  him,  but  they 
obeyed  his  least  word,  and  hung  on  his  eyes 
for  orders  as  though  they  worshipped  him. 
Kafirs  and  dogs  will  sometimes  see  farther  than 
a  Christian. 

"  Meanwhile  Greta  came  to  die.  It  was  a 
chill,  perhaps,  with  a  trifle  of  fever  on  top  of 
that,  and  it  carried  her  off  like  a  candle-flame 
when  it  is  blown  out.  She  died  well — very 
well  indeed.  None  of  your  whimpering  and 
moaning  and  slinking  out  of  the  back-door  of 
life  when  nobody  is  looking ;  nor  that  uncon- 
scious death  that  shuts  out  a  chance  of  a  few  last 
words.  No ;  Greta  saw  with  her  eyes  and 
spoke  with  her  mouth  to  the  last,  then  folded 
her  hands  and  died  as  handsomely  as  one 
would  wish  to  see.  She  prayed  a  trifle,  as  she 
should  ;  forgave  her  brother's  wife  for  speaking 
ill  of  her,  and  hoped  her  tongue  would  not  lure 

[21] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

her  to  destruction.  I  have  heard  her  brother's 
wife  never  forgave  her  for  it. 

"  On  the  last  day  she  sent  everybody  out  of 
the  room  save  only  Stoffel,  and  him  she  held  by 
the  hand  as  he  sat  beside  the  bed.  She  knew 
she  was  drawing  to  her  end  (the  dying  always 
know  it)  and  feared  nothing.  But  there  was  a 
matter  she  wanted  to  know. 

"  '  Stoffel,'  she  said  when  they  were  alone, 
'won't  you  tell  me  now  who  that  woman 
is?' 

"  '  What  woman  ? '  said  Stoffel  amazed,  for  of 
his  dream  in  his  sickness  he  had  spoken  to  no 
living  soul. 

"  She  stroked  his  hand  and  shook  her  head 
at  him.  '  Ah,  Stoffel,'  she  said,  '  it  is  long  since 
I  first  made  place  for  that  woman,  and  if  I 
grudged  her  you,  I  never  grudged  you  her.  I 
was  content  with  what  you  gave  me,  Stoffel ;  I 
thought  you  right,  whatever  you  did,  and  I  go 
to  God  still  thinking  so.  All  our  life,  Stoffel, 
she  prevailed  against  me,  and  I  submitted ;  but 
now,  at  this  last  moment,  I  want  to  have  the 
better  of  it.  Tell  me,  who  was  it  ? ' 

[22] 


THE    DREAM-FACE 

"  And  Stoffel,  looking  on  the  floor,  answered, 
'  I  swear  to  you  there  was  no  woman.' 

"  She  replied,  '  And  ere  the  cock  crows  thou 
shalt  deny  me  thrice.'  She  turned  her  head  and 
looked  at  him  with  a  pitiful  drawn  smile  that 
would  have  dragged  tears  from  a  demon.  '  Was 
she  dark,  Stoffel  ?  I  am  fair,  you  know ;  but 
my  hair — look  at  it,  Stoffel, — my  hair  is  golden. 
Did  you  never  notice  it  before  ?  She  was  tall,  I 
suppose?  Well,  I  am  something  short,  but, 
Stoffel,  I  am  slender,  too.  Will  you  not  so 
much  as  tell  me  her  name,  Stoffel  ?  It  is  not  as 
if  I  blamed  you.' 

"  A  truth,  hardly  won,  is  always  set  on  a  pile 
of  lies.  '  How  do  you  know  there  was  a  woman  ? ' 
asked  Stoffel. 

"  '  How ! '  she  repeated.  '  How  I  know ! 
Stoffel,  you  never  had  a  thought  I  did  not  know  ; 
never  a  hope  but  I  hoped  it  for  you,  nor  a  fear 
but  I  thought  how  to  safeguard  you.  I  never 
lived  but  in  you,  Stoffel. 

"  '  Let  us  speak  nothing  but  the  truth  now,' 
she  went  on.  '  You  and  I  have  always  been  be- 
yond the  need  for  lies  to  one  another,  and  as  I 
03] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

wait  here  for  you  to  tell  me,  I  have  one  hand  in 
yours  and  the  other  in  Christ's.  Let  me  not 
think  hardly  of  her  as  I  go.' 

"  '  You  would  not  curse  her  ? '  he  said  quickly. 

"  '  Not  even  that,'  she  answered,  smiling  a  lit- 
tle. '  And  if  you  will  not  tell  me,  I  will  die  even 
content  with  that,  since  it  is  your  wish.' 

"  '  Listen,'  said  Stoffel  then.  And  forthwith, 
looking  backwards  and  forwards  in  shame  and 
sorrow,  he  told  the  tale.  He  told  how  he  saw 
a  face,  which  laid  hold  on  his  life  ever  after,  how 
it  governed  and  compelled  him  with  the  mere 
memory,  and  hung  in  his  mind  like  a  deed 
done.  And  he  also  told  how  he  hoped  after 
death  to  see  that  face  with  the  eyes  of  his  soul, 
and  dwell  with  it  in  heaven. 

"  When  he  had  finished  he  cast  a  glance  at 
his  wife.  She  was  lying  on  her  back,  holding 
his  hand  still,  and  smiling  up  to  the  ceiling  with 
a  pleasant  face  of  contentment. 

"  '  Can  you  forgive  me  ? '  he  cried,  and  would 
have  gone  on  to  protest  and  explain,  but  she 
pressed  his  hand  and  he  was  silent. 

"  '  Forgive  you  ! '  she  said  at  last.  '  Forgive 
[24] 


THE    DREAM-FACE 

you  I  No ;  but  I  will  bless  you  for  all  of  it 
So  it  seems  I  have  won  after  all,  but  now  I  wish 
I  had  let  be.  It  was  no  spirit  you  saw,  Stoffel. 
There  was  a  woman  there,  and  while  you  lay 
white  and  lifeless  she  held  you  in  her  arms,  and 
bent  over  you.  And  just  for  one  moment  you 
opened  your  eyes  and  saw  her,  while  her  face 
was  close  to  yours.  Then  you  died  again,  and 
remained  so  for  a  day  and  a  night.  Was  there 
love  in  her  eyes,  Stoffel  ?  ' 

"  '  Love ! '  cried  Stoffel,  and  fell  silent 

"  In  a  minute  he  spoke  again.  '  I  am  help- 
less,' he  said,  '  and  you  are  strong.  But,  curse 
and  hate  me  as  you  will,  you  must  tell  me  who 
this  woman  was.' 

"  '  A  little  time  since  it  was  I  that  asked,'  she 
said,  '  and  you  would  not  tell  me.' 

"  '  I  beseech  you,'  he  said. 

"  '  You  shall  never  ask  twice,'  she  answered 
gently.  '  I  will  tell  you,  but  not  this  moment' 

"  So  for  a  while  they  sat  together,  and  the  sun 
began  to  go  down,  and  blazed  on  the  window- 
panes  and  on  the  golden  hair  of  the  dying 
woman.  She  lay  as  if  in  a  mist  of  glory,  and 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

smiled  at  Stoffel.  He,  looking  at  her,  could  not 
lack  of  being  startled  by  the  beauty  that  had 
come  over  her  face  and  the  joy  that  weighed 
her  eyelids. 

"  She  stirred  a  little,  and  sighed.  Stoffel  cast 
an  arm  round  her  to  hold  her  up,  and  his  heart 
bounded  woefully  when  he  felt  how  light  she 
was.  Her  head  came  to  his  shoulder,  as  to  a 
place  where  it  belonged,  and  their  lips  met. 

" '  Shall  I  tell  you  now  ? '  she  said  in  a 
whisper. 

"  Stoffel  did  not  answer,  so  she  asked  again. 
'  Will  you  know,  Stoffel  ? ' 

" '  No,'  he  answered.     '  I'm  cured.' 

" '  I  will  tell  you,  then,'  she  cried. 

" '  No,'  he  repeated.     '  Let  it  be.' 

"So  together  they  sat  for  a  further  while, 
and  the  time  grew  on  for  going.  She  was  to 
die  with  the  sun ;  she  had  said  it.  And  as 
they  sat  both  could  see  through  the  window 
the  sun  floating  lower,  with  an  edge  in  its  grave 
already,  and  the  rim  of  the  earth  black  against 
it.  The  noises  of  the  veld  and  the  farm  came 
in  to  them,  and  they  drew  closer  together. 
[26] 


THE    DREAM-FACE 

"Neither  wept;  they  were  too  newly  met 
for  that.  But  Stoffel  felt  a  dull  pain  of  sorrow 
overmastering  him,  and  soon  he  groaned 
aloud. 

"  '  My  wife,  my  wife/  he  cried. 

"  She  rested  wholly  on  his  arm,  and  shivered 
a  little. 

"'  Stoffel,'  she  said  in  a  voice  that  hence- 
forth was  to  whisper  forever,  '  Stoffel,  you  love 
me?' 

" '  As  God  sees  me,'  he  answered. 

" '  Listen,'  she  said,  and  fought  with  the  tide 
that  was  fast  drowning  her  words.  '  That  face 
— you — saw  .  .  .  was  .  .  .  mine ! ' 

"  She  smiled  as  his  arm  tightened  on  her,  and 
died  so  smiling." 


There  was  silence  in  the  shadowy  room  as 
the  tale  finished,  until  it  was  broken  by  the 
Vrouw  Grobelaar. 

"You  see?  "she  said. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Katje,  very  quietly. 


THE    AVENGER    OF    BLOOD 

THE  Vrouw  Grobelaar  entered  in  haste, 
closed  the  door,  and  sat  down  panting. 
"  If  my  last  husband  were  alive," 
she  said — "if  any  of  them  were  alive,  that 
creature  would  be  shot  for  looking  at  an 
honest  woman  with  such  eyes,"  and  she  cast 
an  anxious  glance  over  her  shoulder. 

"What  is  it?"  demanded  Katje. 

"That  old  Hottentot  hag,"  responded  the 
old  lady.  "  She  looks  like  a  witch,  and  I  am 
sure  she  is  a  witch.  I  would  make  the  Kafirs 
throw  her  on  to  the  veld,  but  you  can't  be  too 
careful  with  witches.  Why,  as  I  came  in  just 
now,  she  was  squatting  by  the  door  like  a  big 
toad,  and  her  eyes  made  me  go  cold  all 
through." 

Katje  made  a  remark. 

"  What !  You  say  nonsense  ! "  The  old 
lady  pricked  herself  into  an  ominous  majesty. 
"  Nonsense,  indeed !  Katje,  beware  of  pride. 
[28] 


THE    AVENGER    OF    BLOOD 

Beware  of  puffing  yourself  up.  Aren't  there 
witches  in  the  Bible,  and  weren't  they  horrible 
and  wicked  ?  Didn't  King  David  see  the  dead 
corpses  come  up  out  of  the  ground  when  the 
witch  crooked  her  finger,  like  dogs  running  to 
heel?  Well,  then! 

"Oh,  I  know,"  continued  the  old  lady,  as 
Katje  tossed  a  mutinous  head.  "They've 
taught  you  a  lot  in  that  school,  but  they 
didn't  teach  you  belief.  Nor  manners.  You're 
going  to  say  there  are  no  witches  nowadays." 

"  I'm  not,"  said  Katje. 

"Yes,  you  are,"  pursued  the  Vrouw  Gro- 
belaar.  "I  know  you.  But  you're  wrong. 
You  don't  know  anything.  Young  girls  in 
these  days  are  like  young  pigs,  all  squeak  and 
fight,  but  no  bacon.  Didn't  the  brother  of  my 
half-brother's  wife  die  of  a  witch's  devilry  ?  " 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  returned  hapless 
Katje. 

"  Well,  he  did.  I'll  tell  you."  The  old  lady 
settled  herself  comfortably  and  lapsed  into 
history. 

"His  name  was  Fanie,  and  he  was  a  Van 
[29] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

der  Merwe  on  his  father's  side,  but  his  mother 
was  only  a  Prinsloo,  though  her  mother  was  a 
Coetzee,  for  the  matter  of  that.  He  wasn't 
what  I  should  call  good — at  least,  not  always  ; 
but  he  was  very  big  and  strong,  and  made  a 
lot  of  noise,  and  folk  liked  him.  The  women 
used  to  make  black  white  to  prove  that  the 
things  he  did  and  said  were  proper  things, 
although  they'd  have  screamed  all  night  if 
their  own  men-folk  had  done  the  same.  They 
say,  you  know,"  said  the  Vrouw  Grobelaar, 
quoting  a  very  old  and  seldom-heard  Dutch 
proverb,  "  that  when  women  pray  they  think  of 
God  as  a  handsome  man. 

"  What  I  didn't  like  about  him  was  his  way 
with  the  Kafirs.  A  Kafir  is  more  useful  than 
a  dog  after  all,  and  one  shouldn't  be  always 
beating  and  kicking  even  a  dog.  And  Fanie 
could  never  pass  a  Kafir  without  kicking  him 
or  flicking  his  whip  at  him.  I  have  seen  all 
the  Kafirs  run  to  their  kraals  when  they  saw 
him  riding  up  the  road. 

"  There  was  one  old  Kafir  we  had, — very  old 
and  weak,  and  no  use  at  all.  He  used  to  sit 
[30] 


THE    AVENGER    OF    BLOOD 

by  the  gate  all  day,  and  mumble  to  himself, 
and  seem  to  look  at  things  that  weren't  there. 
His  head  was  quite  white  with  age,  which  is 
not  a  common  thing  with  Kafirs,  as  you  know  ; 
and  he  was  so  foolish  and  helpless  that  his 
people  used  to  feed  him  with  a  spiked  stick, 
like  a  motherless  chicken.  And  in  case  the 
fowls  should  go  and  sit  on  his  back  while  he 
crouched  in  the  sun,  as  I  have  seen  them  do, 
there  was  a  little  Kafir  picaninny,  as  black  as 
a  crow,  that  was  sent  to  play  about  near  him 
every  day.  Dear  Lord  !  I  have  seen  those  two 
sitting  there,  looking  at  each  other  for  an  hour 
on  end,  without  a  word,  as  though  both  had 
been  children  or  both  old  men.  Nobody 
minded  them:  we  used  to  throw  sugar  to  the 
picaninny,  and  watch  him  fighting  with  the 
fowls  for  it,  rolling  about  on  his  little  black 
belly  like  a  new-hatched  duckling  himself. 

"  Well,  Fanie,  ...  it  was  horrible.  .  .  . 
I  don't  like  to  think  of  it  to  this  day.  He  came 
over  one  day  in  a  great  hurry  to  tell  us  that 
August  de  Villiers,  the  father  of  the  Predikant 
at  Dopfontein,  was  choked  with  a  peach-stone. 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

He  was  riding  very  fast,  and  as  he  came  near 
the  house  he  rode  off  the  road  and  jumped  his 
horse  at  the  wall.  And  as  he  came  over,  up 
rose  the  little  picaninny  right  under  his  horse's 
hoofs.  'Twas  a  quick  way  to  die,  and  without 
much  pain,  no  doubt ;  but  a  most  awful  thing 
to  see.  The  horse  stumbled  on  to  him,  and  I 
can  remember  now  how  his  knee,  the  near 
knee,  crushed  the  little  Kafir's  chest  in.  The 
little  black  legs  and  arms  fought  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  the  horse  struggled  up,  and  he 
was  dead. 

"  Fanie  seemed  sorry.  He  couldn't  help 
killing  the  picaninny,  of  course,  and  perhaps 
we  had  grown  rather  foolish  about  him,  having 
watched  him  and  laughed  at  him  so  long.  So 
Fanie  got  off  his  horse  and  came  in  to  tell  us 
the  news. 

"  When  we  went  out  the  horse  was  standing 
at  the  door  where  Fanie  had  left  it.  But  the 
old  Kafir  was  kneeling  by  the  steps  fingering 
its  hoofs,  which  were  all  bloody,  and  as  Fanie 
came  forward  he  put  out  his  hands  and  left  a 
little  spot  of  blood  on  Fame's  shoes. 

[32] 


THE    AVENGER    OF    BLOOD 

"  Fanie  stood  for  a  moment,  and  his  face 
went  white  as  paper  over  his  black  beard.  He 
knew,  you  see.  But  in  a  flash  he  went  red  as 
fire,  and  lashed  the  old  man  across  the  face 
with  his  whip.  The  old  man  did  not  move  at 
all ;  but  my  brothers  held  Fanie  and  called  to 
the  Kafirs  to  come  and  fetch  the  old  man 
away.  Oh,  but  I  promise  you  Fanie  was 
angry,  as  men  will  be  when  they  are  obliged 
to  be  good  by  force. 

"  Well,  that  was  all  that  happened  that  day. 
Fanie  went  away,  and  we  all  saw  that  he 
galloped  the  horse  as  fast  as  it  could  go.  But 
down  by  the  kraals  the  Kafirs  who  were  carry- 
ing the  old  man  stopped  and  watched  him  as 
he  went. 

"  Well,  in  a  few  days  most  of  us  forgot  the 
ugly  business,  though  the  little  picaninny  used 
to  walk  through  my  dreams  for  a  time.  Still, 
blood-kin  are  blood-kin,  and  Kafirs  are  Kafirs, 
and  one  day  Fanie  came  over  to  see  us  again 
and  we  gave  him  coffee.  He  told  us  a  story 
about  a  rooinek  that  bought  a  sheep,  and  the 
man  gave  him  a  dog  in  a  sack,  and  he  paid  for 
[33] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

it  and  went  away,  and  we  all  laughed  at  it. 
He  was  very  funny  that  day,  and  said  that 
when  he  married  he  would  choose  an  old 
woman  who  would  die  quickly  and  leave  him 
all  her  farms.  So  it  was  late  and  dark  before 
he  up-saddled  to  go  away. 

"Well,  he  was  gone  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
when  we  heard  hoofs,  galloping,  galloping, 
hard  and  furious,  coming  up  the  road.  And 
as  we  opened  the  door  a  horse  came  over  the 
wall  and  Fanie  tumbled  off  it  and  came  rush- 
ing in. 

"  We  all  screamed.  He  was  white  like  ashes, 
and  wet  with  sweat,  and  trembling  so  that  he 
could  not  stand. 

" '  Fanie,'  cried  my  sister,  '  what  is  it  ? '  and 
he  groaned  and  put  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"  By  and  by  he  spoke,  and  kept  glancing 
about  him  and  turning  to  look  behind  him,  and 
would  not  let  one  of  us  move  away. 

"  '  There  was  something  behind  me,'  he  said. 

"  '  Something  ?  '  we  all  asked. 

" '  Yes,'  he  said.  '  Something  .  .  .  dead  ! 
It  followed  me  up  here,  and  I  could  not  get 
[34] 


THE    AVENGER    OF    BLOOD 

away  from  it,  spur  as  hard  as  I  would.     I  think 
it  is  a  death-call.' 

"  Then  we  were  all  frightened,  but  we  could 
not  help  wanting  to  hear  more. 

"  '  No,'  said  Fanie,  '  I  did  not  see  it,  nor  hear 
it  even,  but  I  knew  it  was  there.' 

"  '  It  was  a  sign,'  said  my  mother,  a  very 
wise  old  woman.  '  Let  us  all  thank  God.' 

"  So  we  thanked  God  on  our  knees,  but  I'm 
sure  I  don't  know  what  for. 

"Then  Fanie  told  us  all  he  knew,  and  that 
was  just  nothing.  As  he  came  to  the  kloof  he 
was  afraid  of  something  in  front  of  him.  He 
said  he  felt  like  a  man  in  grave-clothes.  So  he 
turned,  and  then  the  .  .  .  whatever  it  was 
.  .  .  seemed  to  come  after  him ;  so  he 
galloped  and  galloped  as  hard  as  the  horse 
could  lay  hoof  to  the  earth,  and  prayed  till  his 
heart  nearly  burst.  And  then,  not  knowing 
where  he  was  going,  he  jumped  the  wall  and 
came  among  us.  We  were  all  silent  when  he 
had  told  us. 

"  Then  Oom  Jan  spoke.     He  was  very  old, 
and  seldom  said  anything. 
[35] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

"  '  You  have  done  murder  ! '  he  said. 

"  If  I  talk  till  my  mouth  is  stopped  with  dust 
I  shall  never  be  able  to  tell  how  cold  I  felt 
about  the  heart  when  I  heard  that.  For  the 
little  picaninny  came  plain  before  my  eyes,  and 
oh !  I  was  all  full  of  pity  for  Fanie.  I  liked 
him  well  enough  in  those  days. 

"  He  stopped  with  us  that  night.  He  would 
not  go  away  nor  be  alone,  so  he  slept  with  my 
brothers,  and  held  their  hands  and  prayed  half 
the  night  In  the  morning  they  took  him  home 
on  one  of  our  horses,  for  his  own  was  fit  to  die 
from  the  night's  work. 

"  That  was  the  last  I  ever  saw  of  Fanie.  It 
was  as  though  he  went  from  us  to  God.  He 
kissed  me  on  both  cheeks  when  he  went  away ; 
he  kissed  us  all,  but  me  first  of  all,  and  held 
both  my  hands.  I  think  he  must  have  liked  me 
too,— don't  you  think  so,  Katje?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Katje  softly. 

"  He  went  down  the  road  between  my 
brothers  with  his  head  bent  like  an  old  man's, 
and  I  watched  him  out  of  sight,  and  I  was  very, 

[36] 


THE    AVENGER    OF    BLOOD 

very  sorry  for  him.  I  don't  think  I  cried,  but  I 
may  have.  He  was  a  fine  tall  man. 

"  One  night  my  brothers  came  in  just  as  I 
was  going  to  bed,  and  one  stood  in  the  door 
while  the  other  whispered  to  my  mother.  She 
looked  up  and  saw  me  standing  there. 

"  '  Go  to  bed/  she  said. 

"  '  What  is  it  ? '  I  asked. 

" '  Go  to  bed,'  said  my  brother. 

"  '  No,'  I  said.     '  Tell  me,  is  it  Fanie  ? ' 

"  My  brother  looked  at  me  and  threw  up  his 
hand  like  a  man  who  can  do  no  more.  '  Yes,' 
he  said. 

"  Then  I  knew,  as  though  he  had  shouted  it 
out,  that  Fanie  was  dead.  I  cannot  say  how, 
but  I  knew  it. 

"  '  He  is  dead/  I  said.     '  Bring  him  in  here.' 

"  So  they  went  out  and  carried  Fanie  in  with 
his  clothes  all  draggled  and  his  beard  full  of 
mud.  They  laid  him  on  the  table,  and  I  saw 
his  face.  .  .  .  Dear  God !  .  .  .  There 
was  terror  on  that  face,  carven  and  set  in  dead 
flesh,  that  set  my  blood  screaming  in  my  body. 
[37] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

Sometimes  even  now  I  wake  in  the  night  all 
shrinking  with  fear  of  the  very  memory  of  it. 

"  But  there  is  one  thing  more.  We  went 
about  to  put  everything  in  order  and  lay  the 
poor  corpse  in  decency,  and  when  we  started  to 
pull  off  his  veldschoen,  as  I  hope  to  die  in  my 
bed,  there  was  a  little  drop  of  blood  still  wet  on 
the  toe. 

"  I  think  God's  right  hand  was  on  my  head 
that  night  that  I  did  not  go  mad. 

"I  heard  the  tale  next  morning.  My 
brothers,  coming  home,  found  him  ...  it 
.  .  .  in  a  spruit,  already  quite  dead.  There 
was  no  horse  by,  but  his  spoor  led  back  a  mile 
to  where  the  horse  lay  dead  and  stiff.  When  it 
fell  he  must  have  run  on,  .  .  .  screaming, 
perhaps,  .  .  .  till  he  fell  in  the  spruit.  I 
would  like  to  think  peace  came  to  him  at  the 
last ;  but  there  was  no  peace  in  the  dead  face." 

The  Vrouw  Grobelaar  dropped  her  face  on  to 
her  hands,  and  Katje  came  and  passed  an  arm 
of  sympathy  and  protection  around  her. 


[38] 


THE    HANDS    OF    THE    PITIFUL    WOMAN 

THE  Vrouw  Grobelaar  had  no  opinion 
of  Kafirs,  and  was  forever  ready  to 
justify  herself  in  this  particular. 

"  Kafirs,"  she  said,  "  are  not  men,  whatever 
the  German  missionaries  may  say.  I  do  not 
deny  we  have  a  duty  to  them,  as  to  the  beasts 
of  the  field  ;  but  as  for  being  men,  well,  a  baboon 
is  as  much  a  man  as  a  Kafir  is. 

"  Kafirs  are  made  to  work,  and  ought  to 
work.  Katje,  what  are  you  laughing  about? 
Did  not  the  dear  God  make  everything  for  a 
purpose,  and  what  is  the  use  of  a  Kafir  if  he  is 
not  made  to  work?  Work  for  themselves? 
Katje,  you  are  learning  nothing  but  rubbish  at 
that  school,  and  I  will  not  have  you  say  such 
things.  How  could  the  Burghers  work  the 
farms  if  they  had  not  the  Kafirs?  Well,  be 
silent,  then. 

"  Oh,  I  know  the  Kafirs.  I  have  seen  hun- 
dreds of  them — yes,  and  for  the  matter  of  that, 
[39] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

thousands.  Just  beasts,  they  are, — nothing  else. 
Did  you  hear  how  the  Vrouw  Coetzee  came  to 
die?  Well,  I  will  tell  you,  and  you  will  see  that 
we  must  hold  the  Kafirs  with  a  hand  of  iron  or 
they  will  destroy  us. 

"  It  was  a  time  when  Piet  Coetzee  was  away 
making  laws  in  Pretoria,  and  the  Vrouw  Coet- 
zee, who  was  only  married  one  year,  was  alone 
on  the  farm  with  her  little  baby.  There  were 
plenty  of  Kafirs  to  do  the  work ;  but,  you  see, 
there  was  no  man  to  have  an  eye  to  them,  and 
take  a  sjambok  to  them  when  they  needed  it. 
So  one  day  the  Kafirs  came  in  from  the  lands 
and  would  not  work  any  more. 

"  Why  wouldn't  they  work  ?  How  should  I 
know?  Who  can  tell  why  a  Kafir  does  any- 
thing? Perhaps  a  witch-doctor  had  come 
among  them.  Perhaps  the  German  mission- 
aries had  been  talking  foolishness  to  them. 
Perhaps  it  began  at  a  beer-drink  with  some 
boasting  by  the  young  men  before  the  girls. 
Who  can  say?  But  however  it  was,  they  came 
in  and  sat  down  before  the  house,  and  just 
waited  there. 

[40] 


THE    HANDS    OF    THE    PITIFUL    WOMAN 

"  Vrouw  Coetzee  came  out  with  her  baby  on 
her  arm  and  spoke  to  them  ;  but  not  one  moved 
a  finger  or  answered  a  word.  They  sat  still 
where  they  were  and  watched  her,  and  others 
came  from  the  huts  and  sat  down  too,  until  there 
were  close  on  a  hundred  Kafirs  before  the  house. 
Vrouw  Coetzee  watched  them  come,  and  as  she 
stood  in  the  door  the  two  Kafir  girls  who  worked 
about  the  house  pushed  her  aside  and  went  and 
sat  down  too. 

"  Then  Vrouw  Coetzee,  looking  at  the  dumb 
black  faces  and  white  eyes,  got  frightened  and 
went  backwards  into  the  house  and  closed  the 
door.  She  put  down  the  baby  and  drew  the 
iron  bar  across  the  door  inside.  From  there  she 
went  to  the  door  at  the  back,  and  to  all  the  win- 
dows, and  closed  and  secured  them  as  far  as 
possible.  Then  she  took  down  the  old  elephant- 
gun  from  the  wall,  and  finding  Piet's  pouch  and 
the  bullets,  she  loaded  it  and  laid  it  on  the  table. 
All  the  time  the  Kafirs  made  no  sign,  and  from 
the  keyhole  she  saw  them  still  sitting  in  silence, 
watching  the  house. 

ft  When  midday  came  she  made  some  food 

[41] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

ready  to  eat,  and  then  came  a  bang  at  the 
door. 

" '  What  is  it  you  want  ? '  she  cried,  without 
opening. 

"'Liquor!'  cried  one  of  the  Kafirs.  'You 
have  some  brandy  in  the  house.  Give  it  to  us, 
or  we  will  come  and  take  it  and  kill  you  at  the 
same  time.' 

" '  I  have  no  brandy,'  she  cried,  '  and  when 
my  husband  comes  back  I  will  tell  him  to  shoot 
you  all.' 

"  The  Kafirs  laughed,  and  one  of  the  house- 
girls  called  out,  'There  is  brandy;  we  have 
seen  it.' 

"  Then  the  Kafirs  all  began  to  shout  together, 
and  banged  the  door  with  their  knobkerries. 
'  Give  us  the  brandy ! '  they  shouted,  and  she 
heard  a  stone  smash  through  a  window  against 
the  shutters. 

"The  Vrouw  Coetzee  was  a  brave  woman, 
and  she  hated  Kafirs;  but,  looking  at  the 
baby,  she  thought  it  best  to  give  them  the 
brandy. 

"  '  Stand  away  from  the  window,'  she  cried, 
[42] 


THE    HANDS    OF    THE    PITIFUL    WOMAN 

'  and  I  will  put  the  brandy  outside ;  but  if  one 
of  you  comes  near  me  I  will  shoot.' 

"  So  she  placed  the  brandy  on  the  sill  outside 
the  window.  The  Kafirs  were  standing  about 
in  groups,  looking  very  fierce,  but  they  saw  the 
elephant-gun  and  did  nothing.  But  as  she 
barred  the  shutter  again,  she  heard  them  rush 
up  and  snatch  the  bottles. 

"  Watching  through  the  keyhole  of  the  door, 
she  saw  them  troop  off  to  the  huts,  shouting  and 
capering  and  waving  the  bottles  in  the  air. 
They  came  to  the  door  no  more  that  day,  but 
she  heard  them  howling  in  the  kraal  as  the 
brandy  began  to  inflame  them. 

"  When  it  got  dark  she  sat  down  with  her 
face  to  the  door,  her  child  in  her  arms.  The 
howling  of  the  Kafirs  was  wilder  than  ever,  and 
shrieks  of  women  mingled  with  the  uproar. 
The  Vrouw  Coetzee  trembled  there  in  the  dark 
as  she  remembered  stories  of  the  Kafir  wars, 
and  how  the  Kafirs  had  treated  the  white  women 
and  children  they  caught  on  the  farms. 

"  Late  in  the  night  the  Kafirs  came  back  and 
commenced  to  hammer  on  the  door  again. 
[43] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

"  '  Give  us  more  brandy,'  they  shouted 

"  '  I  have  no  more,'  she  said.  '  I  have  given 
you  all.' 

"  '  You  lie  1 '  they  screamed.  '  If  you  do  not 
give  us  more  we  will  come  and  kill  you  and  tear 
your  baby  to  pieces.' 

"  Then  the  Vrouw  Coetzee  began  to  tremble, 
and,  putting  down  the  child,  took  the  big  gun 
in  her  hands. 

" '  That  is  you,  Kleinbooi,'  she  cried  out,  rec- 
ognizing the  voice  of  one  of  the  Kafirs.  '  Why 
do  you  behave  like  this  ?  What  will  the  baas 
say  when  he  comes  back  ? ' 

"  '  We  do  not  care  for  the  baas,'  they  replied. 
'  If  you  do  not  give  us  the  brandy  we  will  break 
in  your  door.' 

" '  I  have  no  more,'  she  said  again,  and  straight- 
way the  Kafirs  commenced  to  hammer  at  the  door. 

"  The  Vrouw  Coetzee  raised  the  gun  to  her 
shoulder  and  pointed  it  at  the  door.  Her  arms 
were  trembling  so  that  she  could  not  keep  it 
steady;  so,  going  close  up  to  the  door,  she 
rested  the  muzzle  on  the  iron  bar.  Then  she 
pulled  the  trigger. 

[44] 


THE    HANDS    OF    THE    PITIFUL    WOMAN 

"  The  gun  went  off  with  a  roar  and  filled  the 
room  with  a  stifling  smoke.  The  baby  began 
to  cry,  but  she  paid  it  no  attention  till  the  gun 
was  loaded  again.  Then,  as  she  snatched  up 
her  child  and  soothed  it,  she  heard  wailing  and 
screaming  from  outside,  where  the  heavy  bullet 
had  done  its  work. 

"The  Kafirs  left  her  at  peace  for  about 
an  hour,  and  the  noise  of  the  wounded 
sank  to  a  sobbing.  At  last  a  voice  hailed  her 
again. 

"  '  We  will  kill  you  now,'  it  said.  '  You  have 
shot  two  men,'  and  she  was  assailed  with  a 
string  of  horrid  names  such  as  only  a  Kafir  can 
think  of. 

"  '  Where  are  you  ? '  she  called,  terrified. 

"  '  Here,'  came  the  reply,  and  a  little  stone  fell 
down  the  chimney. 

"  '  I  will  shoot ! '  she  screamed,  taking  up  the 
gun ;  but  the  Kafir  on  the  roof  answered  with 
only  a  laugh. 

"  '  It  will  do  no  good,'  he  replied.  '  We  shall 
kill  you,  burn  you  in  a  fire  slowly,  scald  you 
with  boiling  water,  cut  you  in  little  pieces,'  and 
[45] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

he  went  on  to  threaten  the  lone  woman  with  the 
most  fiendish  and  ghastly  outrages,  such  as  I 
dare  not  even  give  a  name  to, 

"  The  low  devilish  voice  on  the  roof  went  on. 
1  And  your  baby,  vile  thing !  You  shall  see  it 
writhe  in  the  flames,  and  hear  it  cry  to  you,  and 
watch  the  blood  spout  from  its  skin.  You  shall 
see  the  dogs  tearing  it,  while  you  lie  in  anguish, 
powerless  to  aid  it.  Yes,  we  will  kill  the  child 
first,  and  slowly — slowly  !  It  shall  cry  a  long 
time  before  it  shall  die  at  last.' 

"  Then  the  Vrouw  Coetzee,  calling  aloud  on 
God,  pointed  the  gun  and  fired  through  the 
roof.  There  was  a  laugh  again,  and  before  the 
smoke  cleared  a  big  Kafir  dropped  down  the 
wide  chimney  and  rushed  at  her. 

"  Her  gun  was  empty,  but  the  Vrouw  Coetzee 
was  the  worthy  wife  of  a  good  Boer,  and  she 
raised  the  heavy  weapon  and  struck  him  down. 
He  rolled,  face  upward,  on  the  floor,  and  as  he 
lay  she  struck  him  again.  He  kicked  once  or 
twice  with  his  legs  and  clutched  with  his  hands  ; 
and  then  he  lay  still  and  died. 

"  It  was  their  plan,  you  see,  that  she  should 
[46] 


THE    HANDS    OF    THE    PITIFUL    WOMAN 

fire  off  her  gun  and  then  be  taken  before  she 
had  time  to  recharge  it. 

'"Have  you  got  the  woman,  Martinus?' 
called  a  Kafir  from  outside. 

"  '  No/  cried  the  Vrouw  Coetzee  ;  '  Martinus 
has  not  got  the  woman,  for  I  have  killed  him. 
Who  comes  next  ? ' 

"  There  was  a  while  of  silence  then,  till  she 
heard  them  moving  about  again  and  talking 
among  themselves.  Not  daring  to  think  what 
they  would  do  next,  she  stood  hearkening,  with 
the  great  gun  on  her  arm.  At  length  came  a 
sound  that  froze  the  blood  in  her  body.  She 
heard  the  sheet-iron  on  the  roof  grate  as  it  was 
dragged  off.  Then  she  dropped  the  gun  at  her 
feet  and  knew  that  her  time  was  come. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  in  so  many  words  what 
she  did  in  the  next  minutes,  for  my  tongue 
refuses  the  tale.  But  the  Kafirs  did  not  get  into 
the  house.  By  this  time  the  news  of  their 
doings  was  gone  abroad,  and  as  the  roof  was 
being  taken  off  the  house,  some  Burghers  ar- 
rived with  guns,  and  with  them  my  husband. 
Of  course  they  shot  most  of  the  Kafirs  that  they 
[47] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

could  find,  and  then,  being  unable  to  get  any 
answer  to  their  shouts,  they  broke  in  the  door 
of  the  house  and  entered. 

"  My  husband  used  to  weep  as  he  told  of 
what  they  found.  The  Vrouw  Coetzee  was  sit- 
ting in  a  chair,  smiling  with  her  eyes  closed, 
and  her  baby  was  lying  in  the  crutch  of  her  left 
arm.  Her  right  hand  was  on  his  little  soft 
throat — his  face  blue  and  swollen,  and  his  little 
arms  stretched  out  with  tight  closed  fists.  He 
was  quite  dead,  but  warm  yet,  for  he  had  missed 
life  by  but  a  few  minutes. 

"  No,  the  Vrouw  Coetzee  was  not  dead.  She 
died  a  year  after ;  but  all  that  while  she  went 
witless,  always  smiling  and  seeming  to  look  for 
something. 

"  So  you  see  that,  after  all,  a  Kafir  is — Katje, 
what  are  you  crying  about  ?  " 


[48] 


PIET  NAUDE'S   TREK 

ON  Sunday  afternoons  the  Vrouw  Grobe- 
laar's  household  gave  itself  up,  unwill- 
ingly enough,  to  religious  exercises. 
The  girls  retired  to'their  rooms  in  company 
with  the  works  of  certain  well-meaning  but  in- 
expressibly dreary  authors,  and  it  is  to  be  in- 
ferred they  read  them  with  profit.  The  children 
sat  around  the  big  room  with  Bibles,  their  task 
being  to  learn  by  heart  one  of  the  eight-verse 
articulations  of  the  HQth  Psalm,  while  the  old 
lady  meditated  in  her  armchair  and  maintained 
discipline.  Those  were  stern  times  for  the 
young  students :  to  fidget  in  one's  seat  was  to 
court  calamity ;  even  to  scratch  oneself  was  a 
risky  experiment.  David  got  little  credit  as  a 
bard  in  that  assembly. 

But  the  work  once  done,  the  stumbling  recita- 
tion dared  and  achieved,  there  were  compensa- 
tions, for  the  Vrouw  Grobelaar  was  then  ap- 
proachable for  a  story.  To  be  sure,  the  Sunday 
afternoon  stories  were  known  to  all  the  children 
[49] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

almost  by  heart,  but  what  good  tale  will  not 
bear  repetition?  The  history  of  Piet  Naude's 
Trek  was  an  evergreen  favorite,  and  bore  a 
weighty  moral. 

The  old  lady  began  this  story  in  the  only 
possible  way.  "  Once  upon  a  time,  long  before 
the  Boers  came  to  the  Transvaal,  there  lived  a 
man  named  Piet  Naude.  He  was  a  tall,  strong 
Burgher,  with  a  long  beard  that  swept  down  to 
his  waist,  and  a  moustache  like  bright  gold 
that  drooped  lower  than  his  chin.  His  eye  was 
so  clear  that  he  could  see  the  legs  of  a  gallop- 
ing buck  a  mile  away ;  his  hand  was  so  sure 
that  he  never  wasted  a  bullet;  and  his  heart 
was  so  good  and  true  that  all  the  Burghers 
loved  him  and  followed  him  in  whatever  he  did. 

"  Well,  when  the  English  came  to  the  Burgh- 
ers and  wanted  them  to  pay  taxes  for  their 
farms  that  they  had  won  in  battle  from  the 
Kafirs,  all  the  men  in  Piet  Naude's  country 
were  very  angry  and  said,  'Let  us  take  our 
guns  and  shoot  the  English  into  the  sea,  so 
that  the  land  will  be  clear  of  them.'  Every- 
body was  willing,  and  but  for  Piet  Naude  there 
[50] 


PIET  NAUDE'S  TREK 

would  have  been  a  great  and  bloody  war,  and 
all  the  English  would  have  been  killed. 

"  But  Piet  Naude  said,  '  Brothers,  have  pa- 
tience. When  we  fought  the  Kafirs  we  beat 
them,  but  many  of  us  were  killed  also.  If  we 
fight  the  English,  many  more  will  be  killed, 
and  we  are  not  too  many  now.  But  I  will  tell 
you  what  we  will  do.  We  will  not  pay  this 
tax.  We  will  inspan  our  oxen  and  load  up  our 
wagons,  and  we  will  take  our  sheep  and  our 
cattle  and  our  horses,  and  trek  to  the  north 
until  we  find  a  place  where  we  can  live  in 
peace ;  and  thus  we  shall  have  a  country  of  our 
own  and  pay  no  taxes  to  anybody.' 

"As  soon  as  the  Burghers  heard  this  they 
were  agreed,  and  chose  out  Piet  Naude  to  lead 
them  to  the  new  country.  So  when  the  Eng- 
lish came  to  collect  the  tax  they  found  nobody 
to  pay,  but  only  an  empty  country,  with  tram- 
pled cornlands  and  burned  homesteads,  and 
wild  Kafirs  living  in  the  kraals. 

"  But  Piet  Naude  and  his  Burghers  trekked 
steadily  on  with  the  wagons  and  the  cattle, — 
sometimes  through  a  fine  level  country  full  of 
[51] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

water  and  game,  and  sometimes  through  a  sav- 
age wilderness  of  rocks  and  dangerous  beasts. 
The  sun  scorched  them  by  day  and  the  mists 
froze  them  by  night;  some  died  by  the  way, 
and  some  were  killed  by  lions,  and  some  bitten 
by  snakes.  But  month  after  month  they  held 
on,  crawling  slowly  over  the  desolate  face  of 
that  great  new  country,  till  at  length  the  ragged 
weary  men  cried  out  and  said  they  would  go 
no  farther. 

"'Let  us  go  back  to  the  grass-lands  and 
water,'  they  said,  '  and  let  us  live  there,  else  we 
shall  die,  forgotten  of  God,  in  this  inhospitable 
wilderness.'  But  Piet  Naude  wrought  with 
them,  saying,  'Let  us  keep  good  hearts  and 
hold  on.  In  time  we  shall  surely  come  to  the 
best  place  of  all,  where  we  shall  gain  cattle  and 
sheep  and  prosper  all  our  lives.'  And  after  he 
had  talked  with  them  for  a  long  time,  and 
shamed  them  with  their  weakness,  they  were 
persuaded,  and  once  again  they  faced  the  great 
unknown  country  and  trekked  on. 

"  But  one  hot  day  one  of  the  Burghers  who 
had  ridden  away  to  look  for  meat  came  gallop- 
[5*] 


PIET    NAUDE'S    TREK 

ing  back.  'Over  yonder,'  he  said,  pointing 
with  his  hand,  'there  is  a  wide  kloof,  with  a 
stream  in  it.  There  is  grass  there  as  long  and 
thick  as  the  best  pasture  of  our  farms,  with  trees 
and  wild  fruit,  and  everything  plentiful  and 
beautiful.  Without  doubt  it  will  lead  us  to 
such  a  place  as  we  have  been  seeking.' 

"  So  the  wagons  were  turned  aside,  and  they 
went  forward  to  the  kloof,  all  the  Burghers  up- 
lifted with  hope,  and  the  very  oxen  pulling  their 
best.  But  Piet  Naude  said  nothing,  for  he  had 
a  strange  doubt  in  his  heart,  and  he  rode  on 
anxiously.  And  when  they  came  to  the  kloof 
they  saw  that  all  the  Burgher  had  said  was 
even  less  than  true.  The  veld  underfoot  was 
soft  and  tender  as  satin,  and  the  grass  was  fresh 
and  green.  On  each  side  the  tall  hills  cast 
back  the  sun,  so  that  the  beautiful  cool  shade 
fell  like  a  blessing  on  their  scorched  faces. 
There  was  wild  hemp  (dagga)  for  the  Kafirs  to 
smoke;  and  wild  apricots  running  over  the 
stones  ;  water  splashing,  clear  and  fresh,  beside 
the  way;  mimosa-trees  to  give  wood  for  the 
fires ;  and  everywhere  they  saw  the  spoor  of 
[53] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

every  kind  of  buck.  The  Burghers  were 
overwhelmed  with  gladness,  and  pushed  on 
gaily. 

"  On  the  next  day  the  kloof  widened  out,  and 
they  came  forth  into  a  most  wonderful  plain 
girt  round  with  steep  cliffs,  and  all  overgrown 
with  grass  and  trees.  At  a  little  distance  they 
saw  cattle  grazing  wild,  and  big  herds  of  buck 
roaming  in  the  open.  Birds  started  without 
fear  from  under  their  feet,  and  in  the  streams 
fish  swam  plain  to  see. 

"  Then  Piet  Naude  said,  '  Brothers,  let  us  go 
away  from  this  place.  I  am  afraid  of  all  I  see. 
God  did  not  send  all  this  wealth  easy  to  our 
hands  at  no  cost  of  labor.  Let  us  go  away  lest 
we  be  entrapped  into  some  devilishness.'  But 
the  others  laughed  him  down  and  would  not 
listen  to  him,  saying  his  brain  was  rotten  in  his 
head  with  the  long  trek  and  the  sun. 

"  So  there  they  stayed  and  built  themselves 
houses  and  kraals,  and  set  about  gathering  the 
hay  and  catching  cattle.  But  everything  fell 
out  so  easily  and  all  they  needed  came  so  plen- 
tifully that  there  grew  over  them  a  sort  of 

[54] 


PIET    NAUDE'S    TREK 

sloth,  and  they  slept  without  shame  in  the  hours 
of  work,  and  gave  no  attention  to  the  future. 

"  Then  by  degrees  it  began  to  be  noticed  that 
they  were  growing  fat  Soon  they  had  bellies 
like  sows,  and  their  necks  and  their  limbs  be- 
came so  great  that  they  were  obliged  to  go 
about  without  clothes,  like  the  wild  Kafirs  and 
the  brutes  that  perish.  And  when  one  of  them 
would  lie  down,  his  fatness  so  burdened  him 
that  without  help  he  could  scarcely  rise  to  his 
feet.  None  were  spared :  even  the  godly  Piet 
Naude  was  as  great  as  an  ox ;  but  the  differ- 
ence was,  he  felt  shame  for  it  all,  whereas  the 
others  felt  none. 

"  Many  a  time  he  implored  them  to  inspan 
and  leave  the  place ;  but  each  time  they  cried 
him  down.  And  when  he  said  he  would  go 
himself,  they  reminded  him  that  it  was  he  who 
had  urged  them  to  trek,  and  asked  him  if  he 
would  now  desert  them.  So  for  a  while  he 
stayed. 

"  But  at  length  he  resolved  he  would  no 
longer  be  bound,  and  he  called  to  know  who 
would  go  with  him.  But  as  he  spoke  a  storm 

[55] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

came  up,  and  the  wind  screamed  and  the  rain 
threshed,  and  the  poor  fat  creatures  waddled  off 
to  their  houses,  and  of  all  that  people  only  one 
stayed  to  go  with  Piet  Naude.  It  was  a  young 
Burgher  whose  name  was  Hendrik  Van  der 
Merwe,  a  decent  lad ;  and  the  two  set  off  to- 
gether. 

"  But  when  they  came  to  the  beautiful  kloof 
they  were  amazed  at  the  work  of  the  storm. 
The  wind  had  torn  great  boulders  from  the  hills 
and  rolled  them  down ;  and  the  rain  had 
churned  the  earth  into  mud,  and  washed  the 
roots  of  the  trees  loose ;  so  that  where  every- 
thing had  once  been  so  fair  and  orderly  there 
was  now  a  crazy  wilderness  of  rocks  and  thorns 
and  mud. 

"  But  they  breasted  the  obstacles  gallantly, 
those  two  alone;  and  at  hazard  of  their  lives 
they  climbed  over  and  under  great  rocking 
crags,  cutting  their  hands  and  tearing  their  feet 
with  the  sharp  stones  and  the  thorns  of  the 
mimosas.  But  as  they  went  they  saw  with  de- 
light that  their  fatness  dwindled  from  them,  and 
their  limbs  fell  back  to  their  old  shapeliness, 

[56] 


PIET    NAUDE'S    TREK 

while  the  blubber  on  their  cheeks  retreated  from 
their  eyes  and  left  them  free  as  before. 

"So  after  three  days  of  climbing  and  slipping 
and  scrambling,  the  rain  and  the  wind  ceased, 
and  they  came  forth  into  the  country  beyond, 
tall  and  slender  as  they  were  before." 

This,  in  reality,  is  the  end  of  the  story,  but 
the  children  are  wont  to  ask  in  chorus  what  the 
two  heroes  did  next. 

"They  went  back,"  says  Vrouw  Grobelaar, 
omitting  all  details  of  how  the  return  was  ac- 
complished ;  "  and  when  the  Burghers  went 
forth  on  the  Great  Trek,  they  went  with  them, 
and  lived  long,  had  many  children,  and  then 
died  happy  and  were  buried." 

"  And  what  is  the  moral  ?  "  asked  little  Koos, 
who  supplies  the  part  of  the  Greek  chorus. 

"  The  moral,"  replies  the  old  lady  in  her  most 
impressive  manner,  "is  that  you  should  obey 
your  elders,  learn  your  psalms,  get  up  early, 
shut  the  door  after  you,  tell  the  truth,  and  blow 
your  nose." 

It  will  thus  be  seen  that  for  a  truly  compre- 
hensive parable  the  above  would  be  hard  to  beat. 
[57] 


LIKE  UNTO  LIKE 

FOR  the  most  part  the  Vrouw  Grobelaar's 
nephews  and  nieces  were  punctually  obe- 
dient. Doubtless  this  was  policy  ;  for  the 
old  lady  founded  her  authority  on  a  generous 
complement  of  this  world's  goods.  However, 
man  is  as  the  grass  of  the  field  (as  she  would 
constantly  aver);  and  it  fell  that  Frikkie 
Viljoen,  otherwise  a  lad  of  promise,  became 
enamored  of  a  girl  of  lower  caste  than  the 
Grobelaars  and  Viljoens,  and  this,  mark  you, 
with  a  serious  eye  to  marriage.  Even  this, 
after  a  proper  and  orthodox  reluctance  on  the 
part  of  his  elders  and  betters,  might  have  been 
condoned ;  for  the  Viljoens  had  multiplied  ex- 
ceedingly in  the  land,  and  the  older  sons  were 
not  yet  married.  But,  as  though  to  aggravate 
the  business,  Frikkie  took  a  sort  of  glory  in  it, 
and  openly  belauded  his  lowly  sweetheart. 

"  Mark  you,"  said  the  Vrouw  Grobelaar  with 
tremendous  solemnity,  "  this  choice  is  your  own. 
[58] 


LIKE    UNTO    LIKE 

Take   care   you   do   not   find  a  Leah  in  your 
Rachel." 

Frikkie  replied  openly  that  he  was  sure 
enough  about  the  girl. 

The  Vrouw  Grobelaar  shook  a  doubtful  head. 
"  Her  grandfather  was  a  bijwohner"  she  said. 
"  Pas  op  !  or  she  will  one  day  go  back  to  her 
own  people  and  shame  you." 

The  misguided  Frikkie  saw  fit   to  laugh  at       / 
this. 

"  Oh,  you  may  laugh  !  You  may  laugh,  and 
laugh,  until  your  time  comes  for  weeping.  I 
tell  you,  she  will  one  day  return  to  her  own  peo- 
ple, bijwohners  and  rascals  all  of  them,  as  Stoffel 
Mostert's  wife  did." 

The  old  lady  paused,  and  Frikkie  defiantly 
demanded  further  particulars. 

"Yes,"  continued  the  Vrouw  Grobelaar,  "I 
remember  all  the  disgrace  and  shame  of  it  to 
this  day,  and  how  poor  Stoffel  went  about  with 
his  head  bowed  and  looked  no  one  in  the  face. 

"  He  had  a  farm  under  the  Hangklip,  and  a 
very  nice  farm  it  was,  with  two  wells  and  a  big 
dam  right  up  above  the  lands,  so  that  he  had  no 
[59] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

need  for  a  windmill  to  carry  his  water.  If  he 
had  stuck  to  the  farm  Stoffel  might  have  been 
a  rich  man  ;  and  perhaps,  when  he  was  old 
enough  to  be  listened  to,  the  Burghers  might 
have  made  him  a  feldkornet. 

"  But  no !  He  must  needs  cast  his  eyes 
about  him  till  they  fell  on  one  Katrina  Ruiter, 
the  daughter,  so  please  you,  of  a  dirty  takhaar 
bijwohner  on  his  own  farm.  He  went  mad 
about  the  girl,  and  thought  her  quite  different 
from  all  other  girls,  though  she  had  a  troop  of 
untidy  sisters  like  herself  galloping  wild  about 
the  place.  I  will  own  she  was  a  well-grown 
slip  of  a  lass,  tall  and  straight,  and  all  that ;  but 
she  had  a  winding,  bending  way  with  her  that 
struck  me  like  something  shameless.  For  the 
rest,  she  had  a  lot  of  coal-black  hair  that 
bunched  round  her  face  like  the  frame  round  a 
picture ;  but  there  was  something  in  the  color 
of  her  skin  and  the  shaping  of  her  lips  and 
nostrils,  that  made  me  say  to  myself,  '  Ah,  some- 
where and  somewhen  your  people  have  been 
meddling  with  the  Kafirs.' 

"  Black  ?  No,  of  course  she  wasn't  black. 
[60] 


LIKE    UNTO    LIKE 

Nor  yet  yellow ;  but  I  tell  you,  the  black  blood 
showed  through  her  white  skin  so  clearly  that  I 
wonder  Stoffel  Mostert  did  not  see  it  and  drive 
her  from  his  door  with  a  sjambok. 

"  But  the  man  was  clean  mad,  and,  spite  of 
all  we  could  do, — spite  of  his  uncle,  the  Predi- 
kant ;  spite  of  the  ugly  dirty  family  of  the  girl 
herself, — he  rode  her  to  the  dorp  and  married 
her  there ;  for  the  Predikant,  godly  man,  would 
not  turn  a  hand  in  the  business. 

"  Now,  just  how  they  lived  together  I  cannot 
tell  you  for  sure  ;  for  you  may  be  very  certain  I 
drank  no  coffee  in  the  house  of  the  bijwohneSs 
daughter.  But,  by  all  hearings,  they  bore  with 
one  another  very  well ;  and  I  have  even  been 
told  that  Stoffel  was  much  given  to  caressing 
the  woman,  and  she  would  make  out  to  love 
him  very  much  indeed. 

"  Perhaps  she  really  did  ?  What  nonsense  ! 
How  can  a  bijwohneSs  baggage  love  a  well-to- 
do  Burgher?  You  are  talking  foolishness. 
But  anyhow,  if  there  was  any  trouble  between 
them,  they  kept  it  to  themselves  for  close 
upon  a  year. 

[61] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

"  Then  (this  is  how  it  has  been  told  to  me) 
one  night  Stoffel  woke  up  in  the  dark,  and  his 
wife  was  not  beside  him. 

"'Is  it  morning  already?'  he  said,  and 
looked  through  the  window.  But  the  stars 
were  high  and  bright,  and  he  saw  it  was 
scarcely  midnight. 

"  He  lay  for  a  while,  and  then  got  up  and 
drew  on  his  clothes — doing  everything  slowly, 
hoping  she  would  return.  But  when  he  was 
done  she  was  not  yet  come,  and  he  went  out  in 
the  dark  to  the  kitchen,  and  there  he  found  the 
outer  door  unlocked  and  heard  the  dog  whin- 
ing in  the  yard. 

"  He  took  his  gun  from  the  beam  where  it 
hung  and  went  forth.  The  dog  barked  and 
sprang  to  him,  and  together  they  went  out  to 
the  veld,  seeking  Katrina  Ruiter. 

"The  dog  seemed  to  know  what  was 
wanted,  and  led  Stoffel  straight  out  towards 
the  Kafir  stad  by  the  Blesbok  Spruit.  They 
did  not  go  fast,  and  on  the  way  Stoffel  knelt 
down  and  prayed  to  God,  and  drew  the  car- 
tridges from  the  gun.  Theij  they  went  on. 
[62] 


LIKE    UNTO    LIKE 

"  When  they  got  to  the  spruit  they  could  see 
there  was  a  big  fire  in  the  stad  and  hear  the 
Kafirs  crying  out  and  beating  the  drums.  The 
dog  ran  straight  to  the  edge  of  the  water,  and 
then  turned  and  whined,  for  there  was  no  more 
scent.  But  Stoffel  walked  straight  in,  over  his 
knees  and  up  to  his  waist,  and  climbed  the 
bank  to  the  wall  of  the  stad. 

"  Inside  the  Kafirs  were  dancing.  Some  were 
tricked  out  with  ornaments  and  skins  and 
feathers ;  some  were  mother-naked  and  painted 
all  over  their  bodies.  And  there  was  one,  a 
gaunt  figure  of  horror,  with  his  face  streaked  to 
the  likeness  of  a  skull,  and  bones  hanging  clat- 
tering all  about  him.  They  capered  and  danced 
round  the  fire  like  devils  in  hell,  and  behind 
them  the  men  with  the  drums  kept  up  their 
noise  and  seemed  to  drive  the  dancers  to  mad- 
ness. 

"And  suddenly  the  figures  round  the  fire 
gave  way,  save  the  one  with  the  painted  face 
and  the  bones ;  for  from  the  shadow  of  a  hut  at 
the  back  of  the  fire  came  another,  who  rushed 
into  the  light  and  swayed  wildly  to  the  bar- 
[63] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

barous  music.  The  newcomer  was  naked  as  a 
babe  new  born  ;  wild  as  a  beast  of  the  field ; 
lithe  as  a  serpent;  and  crazy  to  savageness 
with  the  fire  and  the  drums. 

"Madly  she  danced,  bending  forwards  and 
backwards,  casting  her  bare  arms  above  her, 
while  the  horror  who  danced  with  her  writhed 
and  screamed  like  a  soul  in  pain. 

"Stoffel,  behind  the  wall,  stood  stunned  and 
bound — for  here  he  saw  his  wife.  He  thought 
nothing,  said  nothing;  but  without  an  effort 
his  hand  ran  a  cartridge  into  the  gun,  and  lev- 
elled it  across  the  wall.  He  fired,  and  the  lis- 
som body  dropped  limp  across  the  fire." 

Frikkie  Viljoen  rose  in  great  wrath. 

"  This  is  how  you  talk  of  my  sweetheart,  is 
it  ?  "  he  cried.  "  Well,  I  will  hear  no  more  of 
your  lies."  And  he  forthwith  walked  out  of  the 
house. 

"  Look  at  that ! "  said  the  Vrouw  Grobelaar. 
"  I  never  said  a  word  about  his  sweetheart." 


[64] 


COUNTING  THE   COLORS 

THE  horizon  to  the  west  was  keen  as 
the  blade  of  a  knife,  and  over  it  all  the 
colors  swam  and  blended  in  an  ecstasy 
of  sunset. 

"  There  is  more  blood  than  peace  in  a  sky 
like  that,"  observed  the  Vrouw  Grobelaar  from 
her  armchair  on  the  stoop.  "When  I  was  a 
child,  I  never  saw  a  mess  of  fire  in  the  west  but 
I  thought  it  betokened  the  end  of  the  world. 
Ah,  well,  one  grows  wiser  ! " 

"Green  is  for  love,"  said  Katje.  "Do  you 
see  any  green  in  the  sunset?"  I  saw  a  mile  of 
it,  edging  on  a  sea  of  orange  and  a  mountain 
of  azure. 

"Where?"  demanded  the  old  lady.  "Oh, 
that — that's  almost  blue,  which  means  sin  in 
marriage.  But  naming  the  colors  in  the  sky  is 
a  wasteful  foolishness,  and  the  folk  that  are 
guided  by  them  always  tumble  in  the  end. 
When  Jan  Uys  was  on  his  death-bed,  he  said 
[65] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

Dia  had  always  been  counting*  the  colors  with 
the  Irishman,  and  that's  what  caused  all  the 
trouble." 

Katje  sighed. 

"  He  was  a  man  of  sixty,"  the  unconscious 
Vrouw  continued,  "  and  a  Boer  of  the  best, 
with  a  farm  below  the  Hangklip,  where  my 
cousin  Barend's  aunt  is  now.  He  was  a  rich 
and  righteous  man,  too,  and  as  upstanding  and 
strong  as  any  man  of  his  age  that  I  ever  saw. 
He  had  buried  four  good  wives,  so  nobody  can 
say  he  wasn't  a  good  husband,  but  he  had  a 
way  with  him — something  heavy  and  ugly, 
like  a  beast  or  a  Kafir — which  many  girls 
didn't  like.  His  fifth  wife  was  Dia,  who  came 
from  Lord  knows  where,  somewhere  down 
south,  and  she  was  only  sixteen. 

"  I  believe  in  fitting  a  girl  with  a  husband 
when  she  is  ripe,  and  sixteen  is  old  enough 
with  any  well-grown  maid.  But  in  the  case  of 
Dia,  it  is  a  pity  somebody  did  not  stop  to  think. 
She  was  more  than  half  a  child ;  just  a  slender, 
laughing,  running  thing  that  liked  sweets  and 
peaches  better  than  coffee  and  meat,  and  used 
[66] 


COUNTING    THE    COLORS 

to  throw  stones.  She  threw  one  at  my  cart, 
with  her  arm  low  like  a  boy,  and  hit  my  Kafir 
on  the  neck,  and  then  squeaked  and  ran  to 
hide  among  the  kraals.  Yes,  somebody  should 
have  stopped  to  think  before  they  coupled  her 
to  big  Jan  Uys,  with  his  scowl  and  his  red  eyes 
and  white  beard,  and  his  sixty  hard  years  be- 
hind him." 

"I  should  think  so,  indeed,"  was  Katje's 
comment. 

"What  you  think  is  of  no  importance,"  re- 
torted the  old  lady  sharply.  "  I  think  so,  and 
that  settles  it.  Well,  it  did  not  take  long  for 
Dia  to  lose  all  the  froth  and  foolishness  that 
were  in  her.  The  child  that  was  more  than 
half  of  her  nature  was  simply  trampled  to 
death,  for  Jan  Uys  had  a  short  way  of  shaping 
his  women-folk.  She  used  to  cry,  they  say, 
but  never  dared  to  rebel,  which  I  can  under- 
stand, knowing  the  man  and  the  way  he  had  of 
giving  an  order  as  though  it  were  impossible 
for  any  one  to  disobey  him.  In  particular,  she 
could  not  learn  to  make  cheese,  and  spoilt 
enough  milk  to  feed  a  dorp  on. 

[67] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

"  '  Very  well,'  he  said,  '  if  you  cannot  make 
the  cheese  the  Kafir  woman  shall  do  it.  And 
you  shall  do  her  work  at  the  churn-handle.  I 
want  no  idlers  in  my  house.' 

"  And  there  he  had  her  at  the  churn,  grind- 
ing like  a  Kafir,  for  three  days  in  every  week, 
a  white  woman  and  his  wife.  Once  she  came 
to  him  and  held  out  her  hands. 

" '  Look/  she  said.     That  was  all :  '  look  1 ' 

"  Her  fingers  and  her  palms  were  flayed  and 
raw  and  oozed  blood,  but  he  simply  glanced  at 
them. 

"'You  should  have  learned  to  work  before,' 
was  all  his  answer.  '  Every  one  pays  for  learn- 
ing, and  you  pay  late.  Go  back  to  the  churn.' 

"  The  next  thing,  of  course,  was  that  she  was 
missing,  but  Jan  Uys  was  not  troubled.  He 
mounted  his  horse  and  rode  out  along  the 
Drifts  Road,  going  quietly,  with  his  pipe  alight. 
It  was  the  road  by  which  he  had  brought  her 
from  her  home,  and  he  knew  the  girl  would  try 
to  go  to  her  mother.  In  a  few  miles  he  picked 
up  her  spoor,  and  found  some  of  the  sole  of 
one  of  her  shoes.  A  mimosa  carried  a  shred 
[68] 


COUNTING    THE    COLORS 

of  her  dress,  and  in  another  place  she  had  sat 
down.  As  he  went  farther,  he  found  she  had 
sat  down  in  many  places. 

"  '  Good,'  he  said.  '  She  is  tired,  and  soon  I 
shall  catch  her.' 

"  He  came  up  with  her  twenty  miles  along 
the  road,  sitting  down  again.  Her  hair  was  all 
about  her  shoulders,  and  her  face  was  white, 
with  the  great  eyes  burning  in  it  like  those  of  a 
woman  in  a  fever. 

"  '  You  are  ready  to  come  back  ? '  he  asked, 
sitting  on  his  horse,  smoking  and  scowling 
down  on  her. 

"  '  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  me  ? '  she 
asked  in  a  trembling  voice. 

"  He  laughed  that  short  ugly  laugh  of  his. 
1  You  are  a  child,'  he  answered.  '  I  shall  whip 
you.' 

"  Then  she  commenced  to  plead  with  him  to 
let  her  go,  to  return  without  her,  to  spare  her, 
to  kill  her.  In  the  middle  of  it  he  leaned  from 
the  saddle,  and  caught  hold  of  her  arms  and 
lifted  her  before  him. 

"'All  this  may  stop,'  he  said,  turning  the 
[69] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

horse.  '  You  have  brought  disgrace  on  me  ; 
you  shall  be  punished.'  And  he  carried  her 
back. 

"  He  did  whip  her — not  brutally  or  terribly,  I 
believe,  as  a  man  might  do  from  wounded  pride 
and  revenge,  but  as  a  child  is  whipped,  to  warn 
it  against  future  foolishness.  And  from  the 
time  of  that  beating  the  course  of  their  life 
changed.  She  was  no  longer  a  child,  but  a 
very  grave  and  silent  woman,  not  prayerful  at 
all,  as  might  have  been  hoped,  but  just  still  and 
solemn.  Dreadful,  I  call  it.  Then  the  young 
man  Moore  entered  their  lives. 

"  Jan  Uys  was  making  a  dam  right  below  the 
Hangklip.  You  know  the  dam :  half  of  it  is 
cut  from  the  rock,  and  the  water  all  comes  into 
it  from  the  end.  It  was  not  a  matter  of  half  a 
dozen  Kafirs  with  spades,  like  most  dams,  but 
a  business  for  dynamite  and  all  kinds  of  ticklish 
and  awkward  work.  So  Jan  wisely  did  not  put 
his  own  fingers  to  it,  but  sent  to  the  Rand  for 
an  Uitlander  to  come  out  and  burst  the  rocks ; 
and  they  sent  him  this  young  fellow,  the  Irish- 
man Moore.  He  was  a  tall  youth,  with  hair 
[70] 


COUNTING    THE    COLORS 

like  some  of  the  red  in  that  sunset  over  yonder, 
and  a  most  astonishing  way  of  making  you 
laugh  only  by  talking  about  ordinary  thing's. 
And  when  he  joked  anybody  would  laugh,  even 
the  Predikant,  who  was  always  preaching  about 
the  crackling  of  thorns  under  a  pot.  With 
him,  in  a  black  box  like  a  little  coffin,  he  had  a 
machine  he  called  a  banjo,  upon  which  he 
would  play  lewd  and  idolatrous  music  which 
was  most  pleasing  to  the  ear;  and  he  would 
sing  songs  while  he  played,  which  all  ended 
with  a  yell.  He  was  good  at  bursting  the 
rocks,  too.  He  would  load  holes  full  of  dyna- 
mite in  three  or  four  places  at  once,  and  fetch 
tons  of  stone  and  earth  out  with  each  explosion. 
Jan  Uys  was  pleased  with  him,  for  the  young 
man  cared  nothing  at  all  for  his  savage  looks 
and  ugly  ways,  and  called  him  the  Old  Obadiah, 
who  was  a  writer  of  the  Bible. 

"  '  My  wife/  he  told  him,  '  is  a  young  woman, 
and  sad.  You  must  talk  to  her  in  the  evenings 
and  make  her  laugh.' 

"  The  Irishman  looked  at  him  with  a  strange 
face.  '  The  poor  creature  needs  a  laugh,'  he  said. 

[71] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

"So  he  used  to  talk  to  her  on  the  stoop  in 
the  evenings,  while  Jan  sat  within  at  his  Bible,  and 
heard  the  murmur  of  their  talk  without.  More 
than  once,  too,  he  heard  a  sound  that  was  no 
longer  familiar  to  him — the  sound  of  Dia's 
pleasant  childish  laughter,  and  he  scowled  at 
his  book  and  told  himself  he  was  satisfied.  I 
think,  perhaps,  he  had  sometimes  seen  himself 
as  he  was,  an  old  hard  man  crushing  the  soul 
of  a  child.  Vaguely,  perhaps,  and  unwillingly, 
but  still  he  saw  it  sometimes. 

"  This  went  on.  The  Irishman  blew  up  his 
dynamite  and  talked  with  Dia  and  played  with 
her.  Jan,  watching,  saw  the  color  had  returned 
to  her  cheeks  and  the  life  to  her  eyes.  He 
came  into  the  kitchen  once  and  she  was  singing. 
She  stopped  suddenly. 

" '  Why  do  you  not  go  on  ? '  he  asked,  with 
his  little  red  eyes  staring  at  her. 

"  She  had  nothing  to  say,  and  he  went  away, 
to  go  down  to  the  dam.  The  Irishman  was  sit- 
ting on  an  ant-heap  away  in  the  sun,  and  Jan 
passed  him  without  speaking,  and  walked  down 
to  the  place  of  explosions.  He  was  looking  at 

[7*] 


COUNTING    THE    COLORS 

the  marks  of  fire  on  the  rocks,  when  it  seemed 
to  him  he  heard  a  shout,  and  he  saw,  as  he 
turned  his  head,  that  the  Irishman  was  standing 
up.  But  he  made  no  beck,  and  Jan  walked 
along.  When  he  looked  again  the  young  man 
had  both  hands  to  his  head.  Jan  shaded  his 
eyes  to  watch  him. 

"  Moore  walked  a  few  paces  to  and  fro,  stood 
still,  and  then,  with  a  start,  commenced  to  run 
furiously  down  to  where  Jan  was  standing.  He 
ran  with  long  strides  and  very  fast,  and  was 
soon  beside  the  old  man,  and  seized  him  by  the 
arm. 

" '  Out  of  this ! '  he  cried.  '  Out  of  this !  The 
holes  are  loaded,  and  ye've  sixty  seconds  to  save 
yer  life.' 

"  Jan  stood  still.  '  Why  did  you  not  tell  me 
before  ? '  he  asked  ;  but  the  other  did  not  answer, 
but  only  dragged  at  his  arm. 

"Jan  shook  his  hand  off.  '  I  have  a  mind  to 
stay,'  he  said  in  a  calm  voice.  '  If  Dia  is  made 
a  widow,  you  will  know  how  to  look  after  her.' 

" '  And    that's    true ! '    cried    the    Irishman. 
'  But  you  shan't  make  a  murderer  of  me.' 
[73] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

"  And  he  drew  back  his  fist  and  knocked  the 
old  man  down.  Catching  him  by  the  collar,  he 
dragged  him  to  the  shelter  of  a  big  boulder, 
flung  him  close  to  it,  and  lay  down  on  top  of 
his  body.  In  the  next  moment  the  blast  went 
off,  and  the  gust  of  fire  and  rocks  and  earth 
roared  and  whistled  through  the  air  above 
them.  The  sound  struck  them  like  a  bludgeon, 
and  they  lay  for  a  while,  stunned  and  deafened, 
while  pieces  of  stone  slid  and  tinkled  on  the 
boulder  that  had  sheltered  them.  At  last  they  rose. 

" '  I  made  a  mistake  and  I  am  glad/  said  Jan. 
'  Will  you  shake  hands  with  me  ? ' 

"  '  I  will  not,'  was  the  answer. 

" '  So  be  it.  But  there  can  be  no  need  to  tell 
Dia  of  this.' 

"The  Irishman  nodded,  and  that  afternoon, 
again,  he  and  Dia  were  in  the  garden,  throwing 
stones  at  a  sardine-tin  on  a  stick  to  see  who 
could  hit  it  first.  Dia  knocked  it  down  easily, 
and  Jan,  sitting  indoors  with  his  coat  off,  heard 
them  laughing. 

"  At  supper  that  night  he  looked  up  to  Dia. 
'  This  coffee  has  a  sour  taste,'  he  said. 

[74] 


COUNTING    THE    COLORS 

"  '  Mine  hasn't,'  said  the  Irishman. 

" '  Try  mine,  then,'  said  Jan,  and  passed  Dia 
his  cup  to  hand  to  him.  She  fumbled  in  taking 
it  and  dropped  it  on  the  floor.  The  new  cup 
that  she  poured  out  for  him  had  no  sour  taste. 

"  For  several  days  after  that  there  was  a  sour 
taste  in  many  things  that  he  ate  and  drank,  and 
he  complained  of  it  each  time. 

" '  You  must  be  getting  ill,'  Dia  said. 

"  '  It  is  possible,'  he  answered,  watching  her. 
'  I  have  felt  very  strange  of  late  days.1 

"He  saw  the  color  leave  her  cheeks,  and  a 
light  come  into  her  eyes. 

"  '  What  can  it  be  ?  '  he  said.  '  Should  I  have 
a  doctor,  do  you  think  ? ' 

"'I  am  afraid  of  doctors,'  she  answered.  '  Let 
me  give  you  some  of  my  herb  medicine.' 

"  He  drank  what  she  brought  him  and  put  the 
cup  down. 

"  '  I  was  hard  to  you  once,  Dia,'  he  said.  '  I 
have  been  sorry  since.' 

"  That  night  he  sent  a  mounted  Kafir  for  his 
brother,  and  when,  at  noon  next  day,  that 
brother  came,  Dia  and  her  Irishman  were 
[75] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

already  gone.  But  Jan  would  not  have  them 
hunted. 

" '  I  whipped  her  once,'  he  said,  '  and  I  am 
paid  for  it.' 

"His  brother,  a  great  simple  soul,  was  dumb- 
founded. 

" '  Do  you  mean  that  she  has  poisoned  you  ?  ' 
he  demanded. 

"  The  dying  man  shook  his  head. 

" '  They  used  to  count  the  colors,'  he  said. 
'There  was  much  of  love  in  the  colors,  but 
there  was  nothing  of  me.  Let  them  go  ! ' 

"And  so,"  concluded  the  Vrouw  Grobelaar 
impressively,  "he  died,  and  it  all  came  of 
counting  the  colors  in  the  sunset,  which  is  a 
warning  to  you,  Katje " 

"To  count  colors,"  interrupted  that  maiden 
hotly.  "  I  think  the  old  wretch  got  just  what 
he  deserved." 


[76] 


THE    KING    OF    THE    BABOONS 

THE  old  yellow-fanged  dog-baboon  that 
was  chained  to  a  post  in  the  yard  had  a 
dangerous  trick  of  throwing  stones. 
He  would  seize  a  piece  of  rock  in  two  hands, 
stand  erect  and  whirl  round  on  his  heels  till 
momentum  was  obtained,  and  then — let  go. 
The  missile  would  fly  like  a  bullet,  and  woe  be- 
tide any  one  who  stood  in  its  way.  The  per- 
formance precluded  any  kind  of  aim  ;  the  stone 
was  hurled  off  at  any  chance  tangent :  and  it 
was  bad  luck  rather  than  any  kind  of  malice 
that  guided  one  three-pound  boulder  through 
the  window,  across  the  kitchen,  and  into  a  por- 
trait of  Judas  de  Beer  which  hung  on  the  wall 
not  half  a  dozen  feet  from  the  slumbering 
Vrouw  Grobelaar. 

She  bounced  from  her  chair  and  ballooned 
to  the  door  with  a  silent  swift  agility  most  sur- 
prising to  see  in  a  lady  of  her  generous  build, 
and  not  a  sound  did  she  utter.  She  was  of 
good  veld-bred  fighting  stock,  which  never 

[77] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

cried  out  till  it  was  hurt,  and  there  was  even 
something  of  compassion  in  her  face  as  Frikkie 
jumped  from  the  stoop  with  a  twelve-foot  thong 
in  his  hand.  It  was,  after  all,  the  baboon  that 
suffered  most,  if  his  yells  were  any  index  to  his 
feelings.  Frikkie  could  smudge  a  fly  ten  feet 
off  with  just  a  flick  of  his  whip,  and  all  the 
tender  parts  of  the  accomplished  animal  came 
in  for  ruthless  attention. 

"  He  ought  to  be  shot,"  was  Frikkie's  remark 
as  he  curled  up  the  thong  at  the  end  of  the  dis- 
cipline. "  A  baboon  is  past  teaching  if  he  has 
bad  habits.  He  is  more  like  a  man  than  a 
beast." 

The  Vrouw  Grobelaar  seated  herself  in  the 
stoop  chair  which  by  common  consent  was  re- 
served for  her  use,  and  shook  her  head. 

"  Baboons  are  uncanny  things,"  she  answered 
slowly.  "  When  you  shoot  them,  you  can  never 
be  quite  sure  how  much  murder  there  is  in  it. 
The  old  story  is  that  some  of  them  have  souls 
and  some  not :  and  it  is  quite  certain  that  they 
can  talk  when  they  will.  You  have  heard  them 
crying  in  the  night  sometimes.  Well,  you  ask 
[78] 


THE    KING    OF    THE    BABOONS 

a  Kafir  what  that  means.  Ask  an  old  wise 
Kafir,  not  a  young  one  that  has  forgotten  the 
wisdom  of  the  black  people  and  learned  the 
foolishness  only  of  the  white." 

"What  does  it  mean,  tante?"  It  was  I  that 
put  the  question.  Katje,  too,  seemed  curious. 

The  old  lady  eyed  me  gloomily. 

"  If  you  were  a  landed  Boer,  instead  of  a  kind 
of  schoolmaster,"  she  replied,  witheringly,  "  you 
would  not  need  to  ask  such  a  question.  But  I 
will  tell  you.  A  baboon  may  be  wicked — look 
at  that  one  showing  his  teeth  and  cursing — but 
he  is  not  blind  nor  a  fool.  He  runs  about  on 
the  hills,  and  steals  and  fights  and  scratches, 
and  all  the  time  he  has  all  the  knowledge  and 
twice  the  strength  of  a  man,  if  it  were  not  for 
the  tail  behind  him  and  the  hair  on  his  body. 
So  it  is  natural  that  sometimes  he  should  be 
grieved  to  be  such  a  mean  thing  as  a  baboon 
when  he  could  be  a  useful  kind  of  man  if  the 
men  would  let  him.  And  at  nights,  particularly, 
when  their  troop  is  in  laager  and  the  young 
ones  are  on  watch  among  the  high  rocks,  it 
comes  home  to  the  best  of  them,  and  they 
[79] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

sob  and  weep  like  young  widows,  pretending 
that  they  have  pains  inside  so  that  the  others 
shall  not  feel  offended  and  turn  on  them.  Any 
one  may  hear  them  hi  the  kloofs  on  a  windless 
night,  and,  I  can  tell  you,  the  sound  of  then-  sor- 
row is  pitiful." 

Katje  threw  out  a  suggestion  to  console  them 
with  buckshot,  and  the  Vrouw  Grobelaar  nodded 
with  meaning. 

"  To  hate  baboons  is  well  enough  in  the  wife 
of  a  Burgher,"  she  said  sweetly.  "  I  am  glad 
to  see  there  is  so  much  fitness  and  wifeliness 
about  you,  since  you  will  naturally  spend  all 
your  life  on  farms." 

Katje's  flush  was  a  distress  signal.  First 
blood  to  the  Vrouw. 

"Baboons,"  continued  the  old  lady,  "are 
among  a  farmer's  worst  enemies.  They  steal 
and  destroy  and  menace  all  the  year  round,  but 
for  all  that  there  are  many  farmers  who  will  not 
shoot  or  trap  them.  And  these,  you  will  notice, 
are  always  farmers  of  a  ripe  age  and  sense- 
shaped  by  experience.  They  know,  you  may 
be  sure.  My  stepsister's  first  husband,  Shad- 
[80] 


THE    KING    OF    THE    BABOONS 

rach  van  Guelder,  shot  at  baboons  once,  and 
was  so  frightened  afterwards  that  he  was  afraid 
to  be  alone  in  the  dark." 

There  was  a  story  toward,  and  no  one 
moved. 

"  There  were  many  Kafirs  on  his  farm,  which 
you  have  not  seen,"  pursued  the  Vrouw  Grobe- 
laar,  adjusting  her  voice  to  narrative  pitch. 
"  It  was  on  the  fringe  of  the  Drakensberg,  and 
many  spurs  of  hill,  divided  by  deep  kloofs  like 
gashes,  descended  on  to  it.  So  plenty  of  water 
came  down,  and  the  cattle  were  held  from  stray- 
ing by  the  rocks,  on  one  side  at  any  rate.  The 
Kafirs  had  their  kraals  dotted  all  about  the 
land ;  and  as  they  were  of  the  kind  that  works, 
my  stepsister's  husband  suffered  them  to  re- 
main and  grow  their  little  patches  of  mealies, 
while  they  worked  for  him  in  between.  He 
was,  of  course,  a  cattle  Boer,  as  all  of  our  fam- 
ily have  always  been,  but  here  were  so  many 
Kafirs  to  be  had  for  nothing,  that  he  soon  com- 
menced to  plough  great  spaces  of  land  and  sow 
valuable  crops.  There  was  every  prospect  that 
he  would  make  very  much  money  out  of  that 
[81] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

farm ;  for  corn  always  sells,  even  when  cattle  are 
going  for  only  seven  pounds  apiece,  and  Shad- 
rach  van  Guelder  was  very  cheerful  about  it. 

"  But  when  a  farmer  weighs  an  ungrown 
crop,  you  will  always  find  that  there  is  some- 
thing or  other  he  does  not  take  into  account. 
He  tells  off  the  weather  and  the  land  and  the 
Kafirs  and  the  water  on  his  fingers,  and  forgets 
to  bend  down  his  thumb  to  represent  God — or 
something.  Shadrach  van  Guelder  lifted  up 
his  eyes  to  the  hills  from  whence  came  the 
water,  but  it  was  not  until  the  green  corn  was 
six  inches  high  that  he  saw  that  there  came 
with  it  baboons.  Armies  and  republics  of 
them  ;  more  baboons  than  he  had  thought  to 
exist, — they  swooped  down  on  his  sprouting 
lands  and  rioted,  ate  and  rooted,  trampled  and 
wantoned,  with  that  kind  of  bouncing  devilish- 
ness  that  not  even  a  Kafir  can  correctly  imitate. 
In  one  night  they  undid  all  his  work  on  five 
sown  morgen  of  fat  land,  and  with  the  first 
wink  of  the  sun  in  the  east  they  were  back 
again  in  their  kopjes,  leaving  devastation  and 
foulness  wherever  they  passed. 
[82] 


THE    KING    OF    THE    BABOONS 

"It  was  my  stepsister's  husband  that  stood 
on  one  leg  and  cursed  like  a  Jew.  He  was 
wrathful  as  a  Hollander  that  has  been  drinking 
water,  and  what  did  not  help  to  make  him  con- 
tent was  the  fact  that  hardly  anything  would 
avail  to  protect  his  lands.  Once  the  baboons 
had  tasted  the  sweetness  of  the  young  corn, 
they  would  come  again  and  again,  camping  in 
the  kloofs  overhead  as  long  as  anything  re- 
mained for  them,  like  a  deaf  guest.  But  for  all 
that,  he  had  no  notion  of  leaving  them  to  plun- 
der at  their  ease.  The  least  one  can  do  with 
an  unwelcome  visitor  is  to  make  him  uncom- 
fortable ;  and  he  sent  to  certain  kraals  on  the 
farm  for  two  old  Kafirs  he  had  remarked  who 
had  the  appearance  of  cunning  old  men. 

"They  came  and  squatted  before  him, 
squirming  and  shuffling,  as  Kafirs  do  when  a 
white  man  talks  to  them.  One  was  quite  a 
common  kind  of  Kafir,  gone  a  little  gray  with 
age,  a  tuft  of  white  wool  on  his  chin,  and  little 
patches  of  it  here  and  there  on  his  head.  But 
the  other  was  a  small  twisted  yellow  man,  with 
no  hair  at  all,  and  eyes  like  little  blots  of  fire  on 
[83] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

a  charred  stick ;  and  his  arms  were  so  long  and 
gnarled  and  lean  that  he  had  a  bestial  look, 
like  a  laborious  animal. 

"  'The  baboons  have  killed  the  crop  on  the 
lower  lands,'  said  Shadrach,  smacking  his  leg 
with  his  sjambok.  '  If  they  are  not  checked, 
they  will  destroy  all  the  corn  on  this  farm. 
What  is  the  way  to  go  about  it  ? ' 

"The  little  yellow  man  was  biting  his  lips 
and  turning  a  straw  in  his  hands,  and  gave  no 
answer,  but  the  other  spoke. 

" '  I  am  from  Shangaanland,'  he  said,  '  and 
there,  when  the  baboons  plague  us,  we  have  a 
way  with  them,  a  good  way.' 

"He  sneered  sideways  at  his  yellow  com- 
panion as  he  spoke,  and  the  look  which  the 
latter  returned  to  him  was  a  thing  to  shrink 
from. 

" ' What  is  this  way?'  demanded  Shadrach. 

" '  You  must  trap  a  baboon,'  explained  the 
old  Kafir.  '  A  leading  baboon,  for  choice,  who 
has  a  lot  to  say  in  the  government  of  the  troop. 
And  then  you  must  skin  him,  and  let  him  go 
again.  The  others  will  travel  miles  and  miles 
[84] 


THE    KING    OF    THE    BABOONS 

as  soon  as  they  see  him,  and  never  come  back 
again.' 

"'It  makes  me  sick  to  think  of  it,'  said  Shad- 
rach.  'Surely  you  know  some  other  way  of 
scaring  them  ? ' 

"  The  old  Kafir  shook  his  head  slowly,  but 
the  yellow  man  ceased  to  smile  and  play  with 
the  straw  and  spoke. 

" '  I  do  not  believe  in  that  way,  baas.  A 
Shangaan  baboon' — he  grinned  at  his  com- 
panion— '  is  more  easily  frightened  than  those 
of  the  Drakensberg.  I  am  of  the  bushmen,  and 
I  know.  If  you  flay  one  of  those  up  yonder, 
the  others  will  make  war,  and  where  one  came 
before,  ten  will  come  every  night.  A  baboon  is 
not  a  fat  lazy  Kafir ;  one  must  be  careful  with 
him.' 

"  '  How  would  you  drive  them  away,  then  ? ' 
asked  Shadrach. 

"The  yellow  man  shuffled  his  hands  in  the 
dust,  squatting  on  his  heels.  There  !  There ! 
See,  the  baboon  in  the  yard  is  doing  the  very 
same  thing. 

" '  If  I  were  the  baas,'  said  the  yellow  man, '  I 
[85] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

would  turn  out  the  young  men  to  walk  round 
the  fields  at  night,  with  buckets  to  hit  with 
sticks,  and  make  a  noise.  And  I — well,  I  am 

of  the  bushmen '  he  scratched  himself  and 

smiled  emptily. 

"  '  Yes,  yes  ? '  demanded  Shadrach.  He  knew 
the  wonderful  ways  of  the  bushmen  with  some 
animals. 

" '  I  do  not  know  if  anything  can  be  done,' 
said  the  yellow  man,  '  but  if  the  baas  is  willing  I 
can  go  up  to  the  rocks  and  try.' 

"'How?' 

"  But  he  could  tell  nothing.  None  of  these 
wizards  that  have  charms  to  subdue  the  beasts 
can  tell  you  anything  about  it.  A  Hottentot 
will  smell  the  air  and  say  what  cattle  are  near, 
but  if  you  bid  him  tell  you  how  he  does  it,  he 
giggles  like  a  fool  and  is  ashamed. 

" '  I  do  not  know  if  anything  can  be  done/ 
the  yellow  man  repeated.  '  I  cannot  promise 
the  baas,  but  I  can  try.' 

"  '  Well,  try  then/  ordered  Shadrach,  and 
went  away  to  make  the  necessary  arrangements 
to  have  the  young  Kafirs  in  the  fields  that  night 
[86] 


THE    KING    OF    THE    BABOONS 

"  They  did  as  he  bade,  and  the  noise  was 
loathsome, — enough  to  frighten  anything  with 
an  ear  in  its  head.  The  Kafirs  did  not  relish 
the  watch  in  the  dark  at  first,  but  when  they 
found  that  their  work  was  only  to  thump 
buckets  and  howl,  they  came  to  do  it  with  zest, 
and  roared  and  banged  till  you  would  have 
thought  a  judgment  must  descend  on  them. 
The  baboons  heard  it,  sure  enough,  and  came 
down  after  a  while  to  see  what  was  going  on. 
They  sat  on  their  rumps  outside  the  circle  of 
Kafirs,  as  quiet  as  people  in  a  church,  and 
watched  the  niggers  drumming  and  capering  as 
though  it  were  a  show  for  their  amusement. 
Then  they  went  back,  leaving  the  crops  un- 
touched, but  pulling  all  the  huts  in  one  kraal  to 
pieces  as  they  passed.  It  was  the  kraal  of  the 
old  white-tufted  Shangaan,  as  Shadrach  learned 
afterwards. 

"Shadrach  was  pleased  that  the  row  had 
saved  his  corn,  and  next  day  he  gave  the 
twisted  yellow  man  a  lump  of  tobacco.  The 
man  tucked  it  into  his  cheek  and  smiled, 
wrinkling  his  nose  and  looking  at  the  ground, 
[87] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

" '  Did  you  get  speech  of  the  baboons  last 
night  among  the  rocks  ? '  Shadrach  asked. 

"  The  other  shook  his  head,  grinning.  '  I  am 
old,'  he  said.  '  They  pay  no  attention  to  me, 
but  I  will  try  again.  Perhaps,  before  long,  they 
will  listen.' 

"  '  When  they  do  that,'  said  Shadrach,  '  you 
shall  have  five  pounds  of  tobacco  and  five  bot- 
tles of  dop.' 

"  The  man  was  squatting  on  his  heels  all  this 
time  at  Shadrach' s  feet,  and  his  hard  fingers, 
like  claws,  were  picking  at  the  ground.  Now 
he  put  out  a  hand,  and  began  fingering  the 
laces  of  the  farmer's  shoes  with  a  quick  flut- 
tering movement  that  Shadrach  saw  with  a 
spasm  of  terror.  It  was  so  exactly  the  trick  of 
a  baboon,  so  entirely  a  thing  animal  and  un- 
human. 

"  '  You  are  more  than  half  a  baboon  yourself,' 
he  said.  '  Let  go  of  my  leg !  Let  go,  I  say  ! 
Curse  you,  get  away — get  away  from  me  ! ' 

"  The  creature  had  caught  his  ankle  with  both 
hands,  the  fingers,  hard  and  shovel-ended,  press- 
ing into  his  flesh. 

[88] 


THE    KING    OF    THE    BABOONS 

"  '  Let  go ! '  he  cried,  and  struck  at  the  man 
with  his  sjambok. 

"  The  man  bounded  on  all-fours  to  evade  the 
blow,  but  it  took  him  in  the  flank,  and  he  was 
human — or  Kafir — again  in  a  moment,  and 
rubbed  himself  and  whimpered  quite  naturally. 

" '  Let  me  see  no  more  of  your  baboon 
tricks,'  stormed  Shadrach,  the  more  angry  be- 
cause he  had  been  frightened.  '  Keep  them  for 
your  friends  among  the  rocks.  And  now  be  off 
to  your  kraal.' 

"  That  night  again  the  Kafirs  drummed  all 
about  the  green  corn,  and  sang  in  chorus  the 
song  which  the  mountain-Kafirs  sing  when  the 
new  moon  shows  like  a  paring  from  a  finger- 
nail of  gold.  It  is  a  long  and  very  loud  song, 
with  stamping  of  feet  every  minute,  and  again 
the  baboons  came  down  to  see  and  listen.  The 
Kafirs  saw  them,  many  hundreds  of  humped 
black  shapes,  and  sang  the  louder,  while  the 
crowd  of  beasts  grew  ever  denser  as  fresh  par- 
ties came  down  and  joined  it.  It  was  opposite 
the  rocks  on  which  they  sat  that  the  singing- 
men  collected,  roaring  their  long  verses  and 
[89] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

clattering  on  the  buckets,  doubtless  not  without 
some  intention  to  jeer  at  and  flout  the  baffled 
baboons,  who  watched  them  in  such  a  silence. 
It  was  drooping  now  to  the  pit  of  night,  and 
things  were  barely  seen  as  shapes,  when  from 
higher  up  the  line,  where  the  guardians  of  the 
crops  were  sparser,  there  came  a  discord  of 
shrieks. 

'"The  baboons  are  through  the  line,'  they 
cried,  and  it  was  on  that  instant  that  the  great 
watching  army  of  apes  came  leaping  in  a 
charge  on  the  main  force  of  the  Kafirs.  Oh, 
but  that  was  a  wild,  a  haunting  thing !  Great 
bull-headed  dog-baboons,  with  naked  fangs 
and  clutching  hands  alert  for  murder ;  bound- 
ing mothers  of  squealing  litters  that  led  their 
young  in  a  dash  to  the  fight ;  terrible  lean  old 
bitches  that  made  for  the  men  when  others 
went  for  the  corn, — they  swooped  like  a  flood 
of  horror  on  the  aghast  Kafirs,  biting,  tearing, 
bounding  through  the  air  like  uncouth  birds, 
and  in  one  second  the  throng  of  the  Kafirs 
melted  before  them,  and  they  were  among  the 
corn. 

[90] 


THE    KING    OF    THE    BABOONS 

"  Eight  men  they  killed  by  rending,  and  of  the 
others,  some  sixty,  there  was  not  one  but  had  his 
wound — some  bite  to  the  bone,  some  gash,  where 
iron  fingers  had  clutched  and  torn  their  way 
through  skin  and  flesh.  When  they  came  to 
Shadrach,  and  woke  him  wearily  with  the 
breathless  timidity  of  beaten  men,  it  was  already 
too  late  to  go  with  a  gun  to  the  corn-lands. 
The  baboons  had  contented  themselves  with 
small  plunder  after  their  victory,  and  withdrew 
orderly  to  the  hills;  and  even  as  Shadrach 
came  to  the  door  of  the  homestead,  he  saw  the 
last  of  their  marshalled  line,  black  against  the 
sky,  moving  swiftly  towards  the  kloofs. 

"  He  flung  out  his  hands  like  a  man  in 
despair,  with  never  a  word  to  ease  his  heart, 
and  then  the  old  Shangaan  Kafir  stood  up  be- 
fore him.  He  had  the  upper  part  of  his  right 
arm  bitten  to  the  bone  and  worried,  and  now 
he  cast  back  the  blanket  from  his  shoulder  and 
held  out  the  quivering  wound  to  his  master. 

" '  It  was  the  chief  of  the  baboons  that  gave 
me  this,'  he  said,  '  and  he  is  a  baboon  only  in 
the  night.  He  came  through  the  ranks  of  them 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

bounding  like  a  boulder  on  a  steep  hillside,  and 
it  was  for  me  that  his  teeth  were  bared.  So 
when  he  hung  by  his  teeth  to  my  arm  and  tore 
and  snarled,  I  drew  my  nails  across  his  back, 
that  the  baas  should  know  the  truth.' 

" '  What  is  this  madness  ? '  cried  Shadrach. 

"  '  No  madness,  but  simple  devilry,'  answered 
the  Shangaan,  and  there  came  a  murmur  of 
support  from  the  Kafirs  about  him.  'The 
leader  of  the  baboons  is  Naqua,  and  it  was  he 
who  taught  them  the  trick  they  played  us  to- 
night' 

" '  Naqua  ? '  repeated  Shadrach,  feeling  cold 
and  weak. 

"'The  bushman,'  explained  the  old  man. 
'  The  yellow  man  with  the  long  lean  arms  who 
gave  false  counsel  to  the  baas.' 

" '  It  is  true,'  came  the  chorus  of  the  Kafirs. 
'  It  is  true  ;  we  saw  it.' 

"  Shadrach  pulled  himself  together  and  raised 
a  hand  to  the  lintel  of  the  door  to  steady  him- 
self. 

"  '  Fetch  me  Naqua  1 '  he  ordered,  and  a  pair 
of  them  went  upon  that  errand.  But  they  came 
[92] 


THE    KING    OF    THE    BABOONS 

back  empty :  Naqua  was  not  at  his  hut,  and 
none  had  news  of  him. 

"  Shadrach  dismissed  the  Kafirs  to  patch 
their  wounds,  and  at  sun-up  he  went  down  to 
the  lands  where  the  eight  dead  Kafirs  still  lay 
among  the  corn,  to  see  what  traces  remained 
of  the  night's  work.  He  had  hoped  to  find  a 
clue  in  the  tracks,  but  the  feet  of  the  Kafirs  and 
the  baboons  were  so  mingled  that  the  ground 
was  dumb,  and  on  the  grass  of  the  baboons'  re- 
turn there  remained,  of  course,  no  sign.  He 
was  no  fool,  my  stepsister's  first  husband,  and 
since  a  wild  and  belly-quaking  tale  was  the  only 
one  that  offered,  he  was  not  ready  to  cast  it 
aside  till  a  better  one  were  found.  At  any  rate 
it  was  against  Naqua  that  his  preparations 
were  directed. 

"He  had  seven  guns  in  his  house  for  which 
ammunition  could  be  found,  and  from  among 
all  the  Kafirs  on  the  land  he  chose  a  half-dozen 
Zulus,  who,  as  you  know,  will  always  rather 
fight  than  eat.  These  were  only  too  ready  to 
face  the  baboons  again,  since  they  were  to  have 
guns  in  their  hands ;  and  a  kind  of  ambush 
[93] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

was  devised.  They  were  to  lie  among  the  corn 
so  as  to  command  the  flank  of  the  beasts,  and 
Shadrach  was  to  lie  in  the  middle  of  them,  and 
would  give  the  signal  when  to  commence  firing 
by  a  shot  from  his  own  rifle.  There  was  built, 
too,  a  pile  of  brushwood  lying  on  straw  soaked 
in  oil,  and  this  one  of  them  was  to  put  a  light 
to  as  soon  as  the  shooting  began. 

"  It  was  dark  when  they  took  their  places, 
and  then  commenced  a  long  and  anxious  watch 
among  the  corn,  when  every  bush  that  creaked 
was  an  alarm  and  every  small  beast  of  the  veld 
that  squealed  set  hearts  to  thumping.  From 
where  he  lay  on  his  stomach,  with  his  rifle  be- 
fore him,  Shadrach  could  see  the  line  of  ridge 
of  rocks  over  which  the  baboons  must  come, 
dark  against  a  sky  only  just  less  dark;  and 
with  his  eyes  fixed  on  this  he  waited.  After- 
wards he  said  that  it  was  not  the  baboons  he 
waited  for,  but  the  yellow  man,  Naqua,  and  he 
had  in  his  head  an  idea  that  all  the  evil  and 
pain  that  ever  was,  and  all  the  sin  to  be,  had  a 
home  in  that  bushman.  So  a  man  hates  an 
enemy. 

[94] 


THE    KING    OF    THE    BABOONS 

"  They  came  at  last.  Five  of  them  were  sud- 
denly seen  on  the  top  of  the  rocks,  standing 
erect  and  peering  round  for  a  trap ;  but  Shad- 
rach  and  his  men  lay  very  still,  and  soon  one 
of  these  scouts  gave  a  call,  and  then  was  heard 
the  pat !  pat !  of  hard  feet  as  the  body  of  them 
came  up.  There  was  not  light  enough  to  tell 
one  from  another,  except  by  size,  and  as  they 
trooped  down  among  the  corn  Shadrach  lay 
with  his  ringer  throbbing  on  his  trigger,  peer- 
ing among  them.  But  he  could  see  nothing 
except  the  mass  of  their  bodies,  and  waiting  till 
the  main  part  of  them  was  past  him,  so  that  he 
could  have  a  shot  at  them  as  they  came  back, 
should  it  happen  that  they  retired  at  once,  he 
thrust  forward  his  rifle,  aimed  into  the  brown, 
and  fired. 

"  Almost  in  the  same  instant  the  rifles  of  the 
Zulus  spoke,  and  a  crackle  of  shots  ran  up  and 
down  their  line.  Then  there  was  a  flare  of 
light  as  the  bonfire  was  lit,  and  they  could  see 
the  army  of  baboons  in  a  fuss  of  panic  dashing 
to  and  fro.  They  fired  again  and  again  into 
the  tangle  of  them,  and  the  beasts  commenced 
[95] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

to  scatter  and  flee,  and  Shadrach  and  his  men 
rose  to  their  full  height  and  shot  faster,  and  the 
hairy  army  vanished  into  the  darkness,  defeated. 
"  There  was  a  guffaw  of  laughter  from  the 
Zulus,  but  ere  it  was  finished  a  shout  from 
Shadrach  brought  their  rifles  leaping  up  agaia 
The  baboons  were  coming  back, — a  line  of 
them  was  breaking  from  the  darkness  beyond 
the  range  of  the  fire,  racing  in  great  leaps  to- 
wards  the  men.  As  they  came  into  the  light 
they  were  a  sight  to  terrify  a  host,  all  big  tusk- 
ers, and  charging  without  a  sound.  Shadrach, 
aiming  by  instinct  only,  dropped  two  as  they 
came,  and  the  next  instant  they  were  upon  him. 
He  heard  the  grunt  of  the  Zulu  next  him  as  a 
huge  beast  leaped  against  his  chest  and  bore 
him  down,  and  there  were  screams  from  an- 
other. Then  something  heavy  and  swift  drove 
at  him  like  a  bullet  and  he  clubbed  his  rifle. 
As  the  beast  flew,  with  hands  and  feet  drawn  in 
for  the  grapple,  he  hewed  at  it  with  the  butt  and 
smashed  it  to  the  ground.  The  stock  struck  on 
bone,  and  he  felt  it  crush  and  fail,  and  there  was 
the  thing  at  his  feet. 

[96] 


THE    KING    OF    THE    BABOONS 

"How  they  broke  the  charge,  with  what  a 
frenzy  of  battle  they  drove  the  baboons  from 
them,  none  of  the  four  who  spoke  again  could 
ever  tell.  But  it  must  have  been  very  soon 
after  Shadrach  clubbed  his  rifle  that  the  beasts 
wavered,  were  beaten,  and  fled  screaming,  and 
the  farmer  found  himself  leaning  on  his  weapon 
and  a  great  Zulu,  shining  with  sweat,  talking  to 
him. 

" '  Never  have  I  had  such  a  fight,'  the  Zulu 
was  saying,  '  and  never  may  I  hope  for  such 
another.  The  baas  is  a  great  chief.  I  watched 
him.' 

"  Something  was  picking  at  Shadrach's  boots, 
and  he  drew  back  with  a  shudder  from  the  form 
that  lay  at  his  feet. 

" '  Bring  a  stick  from  the  fire,'  he  ordered. 
'  I  want  to  see  this — this  baboon.' 

"  As  the  man  went,  he  ran  a  cartridge  into 
the  breach  of  his  rifle,  and  when  the  burning 
stick  was  brought,  he  turned  over  the  body  with 
his  foot 

"  A  yellow  face  mowed  up  at  him,  and  pale 
yellow  eyes  sparkled  dully. 
[97] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

"  'Tck ! '  clicked  the  Zulu  in  surprise.  '  It  is 
the  bushman,  Naqua.  No,  baas,'  as  Shadrach 
cocked  his  rifle,  '  do  not  shoot  him.  Keep  him 
and  chain  him  to  a  post.  He  will  like  that  less.' 

" '  I  shoot,'  answered  Shadrach,  and  shattered 
the  evil  grin  that  gleamed  in  the  face  on  the 
ground  with  a  quick  shot. 

"And,  as  I  told  you,  my  stepsister's  first 
husband,  Shadrach  van  Guelder,  was  afraid  to 
be  alone  in  the  dark  after  that  night,"  concluded 
the  Vrouw  Grobelaar.  "It  is  ill  shooting 
baboons,  Frikkie." 

"I'm  not  afraid,"  retorted  Frikkie,  and  the 
baboon  in  the  yard  rattled  his  chain  and  cursed 
shrilly. 


[98] 


MORDER    DRIFT 

THE  business  was  something  before  my 
time,  but  I  can  remember  several  ver- 
sions of  it,  which  were  commonly  cur- 
rent when  I  first  came  into  the  Dopfontein 
district.  It  was  not  much  of  a  tale  as  a  general 
thing,  except  that,  if  you  happened  to  have  a 
strain  of  hot  blood  in  you,  it  discovered  a  qual- 
ity of  very  picturesque  pathos.  However,  as 
you  shall  see,  only  the  tail  end  of  the  story  was 
generally  known,  and  it  was  the  Vrouw  Grobe- 
laar,  the  transmitter  of  chronicles,  who  divulged 
it  to  Katje  and  myself  one  evening  in  its  proper 
proportions. 

As  I  first  heard  it  the  tale  was  about  thus. 
The  drift  across  the  Dolf  Spruit,  below  the 
Zwaartkop,  was  a  ragged  gash  in  the  earth, 
hidden  from  all  approaches  by  dense  bushes  of 
wacht  een  beetje  thorn.  The  spruit  was  here 
throttled  between  banks  of  worn  stone,  and  the 
water  roared  over  the  drift  at  a  depth  that  made 
[99] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

it  impassible  to  foot-farers.  Its  name,  Morder 
Drift  (Murder  Ford),  was  secured  to  it  no  less 
by  its  savage  aspect  than  by  the  incident  asso- 
ciated with  it. 

One  morning  a  Kafir  brought  news  to  a  farm 
of  a  strange  thing  at  the  drift,  a  tale  of  violent 
death  at  criminal  hands.  Straightway  four 
men  got  to  horse  and  rode  over.  Arriving, 
they  found  their  information  justified  in  a 
strange  fashion.  Seated  in  the  deep  southern 
approach  to  the  water  was  a  Boer  woman,  a 
young  one,  pillowing  on  her  lap  the  head  of  a 
murdered  man,  whose  body  oozed  blood  from  a 
dozen  wounds.  The  woman  paid  no  heed  to 
the  approach  of  the  Burghers,  and  they,  on 
nearing  the  body,  observed  that  her  eyes  were 
fixed  across  the  spruit,  and  that  a  smile,  a 
dreadful  twisted  smile  of  contempt,  ruled  her 
face  as  though  frozen  there. 

The  woman  was  recognized  as  a  girl  of  good 
Boer  family  who  had  recently  married  in  oppo- 
sition to  the  strong  objections  of  her  family; 
the  dead  man  at  her  feet  was  soon  identified  as 
all  that  was  left  of  her  husband. 
[100] 


MORDER    DRIFT 

That  was  the  tale:  it  ended  there  like  a 
broken  string,  for  while  the  matter  was  under 
investigation  at  the  hands  of  the  feldkornet,  a 
Kafir  chief  in  the  Magaliesberg  commenced  to 
assert  himself,  and  the  commando  of  the  dis- 
trict was  called  out  to  wait  on  him.  And  there 
the  matter  dropped,  for  during  the  two  years 
that  elapsed  before  she  died  the  woman  never 
uttered  a  word.  But  (and  here,  for  me,  at  any 
rate,  the  wonder  of  the  story  commenced)  every 
day  and  all  day,  come  fine  or  rain,  sun  or 
storm,  there  she  would  sit  in  the  drift,  damning 
the  traitor's  road  of  escape  with  that  smile  the 
Burghers  had  shuddered  at.  The  scene,  and 
the  unspeakable  sadness  of  it,  used  to  govern 
my  dreams. 

I  was  telling  Katje  the  story,  for  she  said  she 
had  never  heard  it,  but  this  I  since  learned  to 
have  been  untrue.  At  first  the  conversation 
had  been  varied  even  to  the  point  of  inanity, 
but  in  time  it  turned — as  such  conversations 
will,  you  know — to  the  wonder  and  beauty  of 
the  character  of  women  in  general.  I  think  it 
must  have  been  at  this  stage  that  the  Vrouw 

[101] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

Grobelaar,  who  had  been  dozing  like  a  dog, 
with  one  ear  awake,  commenced  to  listen  ;  and 
I  have  always  thought  the  better  of  the  good 
lady  for  not  annihilating  the  situation  with 
some  ponderously  arch  comment,  as  was  a 
habit  of  hers. 

When  my  tale  was  finished,  though,  the  con- 
tempt of  the  artist  for  the  mere  artisan  moved 
her  to  complete  the  record. 

"You  are  wrong  when  you  say  the  truth 
never  came  to  light,"  she  said.  "  I  know  the 
whole  story." 

"  But,"  I  answered  in  surprise,  "  nothing  was 
ever  done  in  the  matter." 

"Certainly  not,"  she  said  with  spirit.  "It 
was  not  a  Kafir  murder.  It  was  a  killing  by 
Burghers,  and,  though  God  knows  I  utterly 
condemn  all  such  doings,  it  cannot  be  denied 
that  there  was  as  much  on  the  one  side  as  on 
the  other." 

The  due  request  was  proffered. 

"  It  is  not  a  tale  to  carry  abroad,"  observed 
the  old  lady.  "It  concerns  some  of  my  fam- 
ily. The  woman  was  Christina  van  der  Poel,  a 

[102] 


MORDER    DRIFT 

halfsister  of  my  second  husband,  and  what  I 
am  now  telling  you  is  the  confession  of  Koos 
van  der  Poel,  her  brother,  on  the  day  he  died. 
I  remember  he  was  troubled  with  an  idea  that 
he  would  be  buried  near  her,  and  that  she 
would  cry  out  on  him  from  her  grave  to  his." 

The  suggestion,  as  you  must  agree,  quite 
justified  Katje's  moving  closer  to  me. 

"  It  was  like  this,"  resumed  the  Vrouw  Grobe- 
laar,  after  an  expressionless  glance  at  the  two 
of  us.  "  Christina  was  a  wild  fanciful  girl,  with 
an  eye  to  every  stranger  that  off-saddled  at  the 
farm,  Katje ;  and  she  had  barely  a  civil  word 
to  waste  on  a  bashful  Burgher.  I  can't  say  I 
ever  saw  much  in  her  myself.  She  was  a  tall 
young  woman,  with  a  face  that  drew  the  eye, 
as  it  were  ;  but  she  was  restless  and  unquiet  in 
her  motions,  and,  to  my  mind,  too  thin  and 
leggy.  But  men  have  no  taste  in  these  things; 
and  if  Christina  had  been  of  a  decent  turn,  she 
might  have  had  her  pick  of  all  the  unmarried 
men  within  a  day's  ride,  and  there  used  to  be 
some  very  good  men  about  here. 

"  But,  as  I  said,  she  kept  them  all  on  the  far 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

side  of  the  fence,  and  for  a  long  time  their  only 
comfort  was  in  seeing  no  one  else  take  her. 
Till  one  day  a  surprising  thing  happened. 

"  A  tall  smart  man  rode  into  the  farm  one 
afternoon  and  hung  up  his  horse  on  the  rail. 
He  swaggered  with  his  great  clumping  feet 
right  into  the  house,  and  went  from  one  room 
to  another  till  he  found  the  old  father. 

" '  Are  you  Mynheer  van  der  Poel  ? '  he  asked 
him  in  a  loud  voice,  standing  in  the  middle  of 
the  chamber  with  his  hat  on  his  head  and  his 
sjambok  in  his  hand. 

"  '  I  am,'  answered  the  other. 

" '  I  am  John  Dunn,'  said  the  stranger.  '  I 
have  a  store  at  Bothaskraal,  and  I  am  come  to 
ask  for  your  daughter  to  wife.' 

"  '  An  Englishman  ? '  asked  the  old  man. 

" '  To  be  sure/  said  the  stranger. 

" '  But  where  have  you  seen  the  girl  ? '  asked 
Mynheer  van  der  Poel. 

" '  Oh,  in  many  places,'  replied  the  English- 
man, laughing.  '  We  are  very  good  friends,  she 
and  I,  and  have  been  meeting  every  evening  for 
a  long  time.  Indeed,  you  have  to  thank  me 
[104] 


MORDER    DRIFT 

for  giving  you  a  chance  to  consent  to  the  wed- 
ding.' 

"  Now  the  Heer  van  der  Poel  was  always  a 
quiet  man,  but  there  was  nothing  weak  in  him. 

"  '  I  do  thank  you,'  he  said,  '  for  playing  the 
part  of  an  honest  man,  and  no  doubt  the  girl 
has  been  foolish.  A  girl  is,  you  know  ;  and  you 
are  big  enough  to  have  taken  her  eye.  But 
there  will  be  no  marriage  ;  Christina  is  to  marry 
a  Boer.' 

"  '  So  you  object  to  an  Englishman  ? '  sneered 
the  other. 

"  '  Yes,'  said  the  old  man. 

"  '  What  have  you  against  the  English  ? ' 

"  '  In  general,  nothing  at  all.  I  have  found 
them  brave  men  and  good  fighters ;  at  Potchef- 
stroom  I  killed  three.  But,'  and  the  old  man 
held  up  his  forefinger,  '  I  will  not  have  one  in 
my  family.' 

"  '  I  see,'  said  the  other.  '  So  you  refuse  me 
your  daughter  ? ' 

"  '  Yes,'  answered  the  father. 

"  '  So  be  it,'  returned  the  stranger,  turning  to 
the  door,  '  In  that  case  I  shall  take  her  with- 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

out  your  leave.'     And  off  he  went  at  a  canter, 
never  looking  back. 

"Next  day  Mynheer  van  der  Poel  took 
Christina  into  a  kraal,  and  when  she  had  con' 
fessed  her  meetings  with  the  Englishman,  he 
gave  her  a  sound  beating  with  a  stirrup-leather, 
and  told  her  that  for  the  future  she  must  not  go 
alone  outside  of  the  house. 

"  '  And  either  I  or  one  of  your  brothers  will 
always  be  at  home,'  concluded  the  old  man,  '  so 
that  if  this  Mynheer  Dunn  comes,  he  will  be  shot.' 

"  So  Christina  for  upwards  of  a  month  never 
saw  her  Englishman.  Of  course  the  matter  was 
a  great  scandal,  and  her  people  said  as  little  as 
they  could  about  it ;  but,  nevertheless,  it  got 
about,  and  the  number  of  visitors  to  the  farm 
for  the  next  week  or  two  was  astonishing.  But 
call  as  often  as  they  pleased,  the  Englishman 
stayed  away  and  they  saw  nothing  of  him. 

"But  one  morning  when  daylight  came 
Christina  was  missing.  They  looked  about, 
and  there  was  no  trace  of  her,  but  in  the  road 
outside  there  was  the  spoor  of  a  cart  that  had 
halted  in  passing  during  the  night. 
[106] 


MORDER    DRIFT 

" '  It  is  plain  enough/  said  the  old  man 
'She  is  with  her  Englishman  at  Bothaskraal. 
Sons,  get  your  rifles,  and  we  will  ride  over.' 

"  But  on  the  way  they  had  to  pass  Morder 
Drift,  and  thinking  only  of  the  shame  to  their 
house,  they  rode  altogether  into  the  water, 
none  looking  ahead.  There  had  been  rains, 
and  each  man  was  compelled  to  give  all  his 
care  to  guiding  his  horse  through  the  torrent, 
while  holding  his  rifle  aloft  in  one  hand. 

"  When  they  were  thus  all  in  the  water  to- 
gether they  heard  a  shout,  and  the  Englishman 
on  a  big  horse  rode  down  to  the  water's  edge. 
He  had  a  gun  at  his  shoulder  covering  them  all, 
and  they  headed  their  horses  up-stream  and 
halted  to  hear  him  speak. 

"He  was prideful  and  contemptuous.  ' Six  of 
you,'  he  cried,  '  no  less  than  six,  who  have  come 
out  to  kill  one  man,  and  the  whole  lot  bottled 
up  in  the  middle  of  a  ditch  and  waiting  to  be 
shot.  The  first  one  that  moves  his  rifle  till  I 
give  permission  dies.' 

"  Not  one  of  them  answered,  but  all  kept  their 
eyes  on  him.  Old  Mynheer  van  der  Poel  had  a 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

cartridge  in  his  rifle,  and  he  touched  his  horse 
with  the  spur  under  water  that  it  might  fidget 
round  towards  the  Englishman. 

" '  Well,'  said  the  man  on  the  bank,  « if  I  shot 
each  one  of  you  as  you  sit,  I  should  be  in  my 
right,  and  not  one  could  blame  me.  But  where 
I  come  from  one  does  not  shoot  even  a  duck 
sitting,  and  I  am  going  to  let  you  go.  You 
shall  have  a  chance  to  do  the  thing  decently,  so 
come  back  and  fight  me  openly.  Or,'  and  he 
laughed  as  he  spoke,  'you  can  do  it  another 
way.  I  am  leaving  this  cursed  country  shortly 
with  Christina.  See  if  you  can  get  at  me  and 
kill  me  before  then.  It's  a  fair  offer ;  but  I 
warn  you  you'll  find  it  a  dangerous  game,  and 
there'll  be  blood-letting  on  the  one  side  or  the 
other.' 

"  He  drew  back  his  horse  a  little,  still  cover- 
ing them  with  the  rifle.  '  Now,'  he  cried,  '  drop 
your  guns  into  the  water,  and  you  can  go. 
Drop  them,  I  say  I ' 

"  One  by  one  the  young  men  let  their  rifles 
fall  into  the  stream  ;  but  the  old  father  fumbled 
with  his  finger.  Suddenly  there  was  a  shot,  and 
[108] 


MORDER    DRIFT 

the  Englishman's  big  horse  shied  at  the  spurt 
of  mud  at  his  feet.  Of  course  the  old  man 
could  not  shoot  without  aiming. 

"Then  the  Englishman  brought  round  his 
gun,  and  the  old  man,  sitting  on  his  horse,  with 
the  water  streaming  over  his  saddle,  knew  that 
a  tremble  of  the  finger  would  send  him  to  God. 

" '  But  that  you  are  Christina's  father,'  said 
the  Englishman,  in  a  voice  as  clear  as  falling 
pebbles,  'I  would  put  a  bullet  through  your 
white  head  this  minute*  This  time,  though, 

you  shall  go  alive,  but  by !  you  shall  have 

your  ducking.' 

"  And  dropping  his  muzzle,  he  suddenly  shot 
the  straining  horse  through  the  head,  so  that 
it  fell  immediately,  and  the  old  man  was  plunged 
out  of  sight  in  the  rushing  water. 

"  When  he  got  to  the  bank,  fifty  yards  down 
the  stream,  the  Englishman  was  gone. 

"They  went  home  soberly,  all  busy  with 
thoughts  of  their  own.  When  they  neared  the 
home  kraals  the  father  spoke. 

"  '  This  is  a  business  to  be  wiped  out,'  he  said. 
'  This  shame  cannot  rest  with  us.  For  my  part, 
[109] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

I  could  not  pray  with  a  clear  mind  and  that 
Englishman  alive.' 

"  They  all  agreed  with  him,  though,  as  Koos 
admitted,  with  the  death-rattle  shaking  him, 
they  were  all  dreadfully  afraid  of  that  big  swag- 
gering man.  The  old  man  had  done  a  fair 
share  of  fighting  before,  and  at  Potchefstroom, 
as  he  said,  he  had  killed  three  rooineks,  so  he 
was  ready  enough  for  the  business. 

"But  the  young  men  had  only  been  out 
against  the  Kafirs,  and  there  is  not  very  much 
in  that 

"Now  old  Mynheer  van  der  Poel  was  not 
such  a  fool  as  to  risk  his  life  or  the  lives  of  his 
sons  in  fighting  the  Englishman.  The  war 
against  the  rooineks  had  made  him  slim  ;  for  it 
is  chiefly  by  wits  and  knowledge  that  the  Boers 
have  beaten  the  English.  So  instead  of  going 
out  to  be  shot  like  a  fool,  he  made  a  plan. 

"You  know  how  Bothaskraal  lies.  At  the 
back  of  it  there  is  nothing  but  the  Kafir  coun- 
try and  the  thorn  bush ;  and  if  you  would  get 
to  the  dorp,  or  to  the  road,  or  to  the  railway, 
you  must  cross  the  Dolf  Spruit,  and  for  miles 
[no] 


MORDER    DRIFT 

the  only  crossing  place  is  M  order  Drift.  So  at 
Morder  Drift  they  set  a  watch,  four  in  the  day- 
time and  three  in  the  night,  never  losing  sight 
of  the  drift. 

"  In  this  manner  they  waited  a  month  till  the 
evil  night  came.  It  was  a  night  sent  by  the 
devil's  own  design,  a  gruesome,  cloud-heavy, 
sulphurous  night,  and  at  the  drift  were  the  old 
man,  Koos,  and  the  lad  Hendrik.  Koos  was 
on  watch  among  the  bushes;  the  other  two 
crouched  below  the  bank  out  of  the  wind.  A 
little  rain  dribbled  down,  and  of  a  sudden  Koos 
whistled  like  a  korhaan. 

"The  two  got  their  rifles  and  went  down 
into  the  water  on  foot,  the  old  man  up  stream, 
the  lad  down,  stepping  carefully,  for  the  stream 
was  very  strong  and  pulled  at  their  waists  dan- 
gerously. Koos  walked  into  the  road,  above 
the  water  and  in  the  shadow,  and  waited. 

"  Three  horses  came  down  the  other  side  of 
the  drift,  and  three  persons  on  them.  The  one 
was  the  Englishman,  the  other  was  Christina, 
the  third  a  Kafir.  In  the  darkness  of  the  drift 
they  could  not  see  the  watchers,  and  in  the 
[in] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

swirl  of  the  water  they  could  not  hear  the  click 
of  the  rifles. 

"  Into  the  water  they  rode,  and  then  Koos, 
who  had  a  magazine  rifle,  suddenly  stood  up 
and  shot  the  Kafir.  He  screamed  and  fell  into 
the  water,  and  his  horse  turned  and  galloped 
off. 

"'Keep  still,  Mynheer  Dunn/  cried  Koos. 
'  A  movement  and  you  are  dead.  Better  raise 
your  hands,  I  think.  That  is  right.  Now, 
Christina,  ride  out  of  the  water  on  this  side.' 

"'Stay  where  you  are,  Christina,'  said  the 
Englishman.  'Sir,'  he  called  to  Koos,  'you 
have  trapped  me  sure  enough,  and  I  ask  and 
expect  nothing.  But  what  are  you  going  to  do 
to  Christina?' 

'"Are  you  Christina's  husband?'  asked 
Koos.  '  Are  you  married  to  her  ? ' 

"  '  I  am,'  answered  the  other. 

"  '  That  is  well  for  Christina.  Otherwise  she 
would  be  shot.  We  have  little  patience  with 
wrong-doers,  I  can  tell  you.' 

"  '  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  her  ? ' 

" '  I  ?  Nothing  at  all,'  answered  Koos.  '  She 
[112] 


MORDER    DRIFT 

is  no  longer  my  business.  It  will  be  for  Chris- 
tina's father  to  decide  what  shall  be  done  to 
her.' 

"  '  Will  you  promise '  began  the  English- 
man ;  but  Koos  laughed. 

"  '  I  promise  nothing,'  he  replied.  '  In  a  few 
moments  you  will  be  dead,  and  past  bargain- 
ing. Christina,  ride  on.' 

" '  Stay  a  moment,'  called  the  Englishman 
again.  '  I  will  ask  you  a  favor,  anyhow.  It  is 
not  well  to  refuse  a  dying  man,  and  perhaps  in 
a  few  moments  I  shall  have  more  power  over 
you.  So  I  beg  you,  spare  Christina.' 

"  '  I  promise  nothing  at  all,'  answered  Koos. 
'  I  am  not  afraid  of  ghosts.' 

" '  I  wasn't  thinking  of  that,'  said  the  other. 
'  So  I  have  nothing  to  gain  whether  by  talking 
or  holding  my  tongue  ? ' 

"  '  Nothing  at  all ! ' 

"  '  Very  well ;  if  that  be  the  case,  take  that ! ' 
and  very  suddenly  he  snatched  a  pistol — one  of 
those  things  which  hold  six  bullets — from  his 
pocket  and  shot  Koos  in  the  leg. 

Christina  screamed  as  her  horse  bounded  and 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

carried  her  forward  out  of  the  water.  Koos  did 
not  fall,  but  caught  it  by  the  rein  and  dragged 
her  from  the  saddle.  He  held  her  close,  with 
his  left  arm  about  her  and  his  rifle  in  his  right 
hand,  pistol-fashion. 

"  '  Shoot  again,  rooinek,'  he  cried  mockingly. 
'  You  will  be  sure  to  hit  one  of  us.'  And  then 
he  fired. 

"  At  the  same  moment  Mynheer  van  der  Poel, 
in  the  water  up-stream,  fired,  and  the  English- 
man fell  on  to  the  bow  of  his  saddle.  The 
horse  dashed  down  the  water,  and  Koos,  grip- 
ping the  screaming  girl,  heard  young  Hendrik 
shoot  again. 

"There  was  silence  for  a  minute  then,  and 
Mynheer  van  der  Poel  climbed  out  of  the  water 
and  called  to  Hendrik. 

"  '  Have  you  got  him  ? '  he  cried. 

" '  Yes,'  answered  the  boy  ;  '  I  am  holding 
him  up,  but  he  is  still  alive.' 

"  '  Can  he  stand  ? '  cried  the  old  man. 

"  '  No,'  came  the  answer  from  the  water. 

"  '  Then  drown  him,'  commanded  the  father. 
'  I  will  come  down  and  help.' 


MORDER    DRIFT 

"When  he  had  climbed  down  into  the  water 
again  Koos  laid  the  girl  down.  She  was  still 
white ;  her  senses  had  fled.  Presently  as  he 
was  binding  his  leg  he  heard  the  father  say  — 

"  '  Now  raise  him  a  little,  and  I  will  shoot 
again  to  make  sure'  ;  and  immediately  the 
sound  of  shot  burst  out.  At  this  the  girl 
opened  her  eyes,  and  Koos,  looking  at  her,  saw 
with  astonishment  that  she  smiled. 

" '  Have  you  killed  him,  Koos  ? '  she  asked 
very  gently. 

"  '  Be  quiet,'  answered  Koos. 

"  '  But  tell  me,'  she  persisted. 

"  '  Yes,'  he  replied  at  length. 

"  She  closed  her  eyes  and  sighed.  '  That  was 
cruel,'  she  said ;  '  I  loved  him  so.' 

"  But  she  sat  up  again  as  the  old  father  and 
the  lad  dragged  the  body  out  of  the  water. 

"  '  Four  wounds,'  panted  the  old  man.  '  Not 
one  of  us  missed.  That  was  very  good,  con- 
sidering the  darkness.'  And  as  he  flung  the 
bleeding  corpse  down  he  turned  upon  Christina. 

"  '  Here,'  he  cried,  calling  her  by  a  dreadful 
word  of  shame.     '  Here  is  your  husband.' 
t»5] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

" '  Father,'  said  young  Hendrik,  '  there  is 
money  in  his  pockets.  If  I  take  it  people  will 
say  this  was  done  by  Kafirs.' 

"  '  Take  it  then,'  said  the  old  man,  and  when 
the  boy  had  emptied  the  pockets  he  bade  him 
throw  the  money  into  the  stream. 

"  Then  they  mounted  and  rode  away,  but  not 
homewards.  They  rode  across  the  stream  to 
cross  it  twenty  miles  down,  that  their  spoor 
should  not  betray  them. 

"  And  as  Koos  told  me,  while  his  eyes  glazed, 
he  turned  and  looked  back,  and  there  he  saw 
Christina  with  the  Englishman's  head  on  her 
lap,  looking  after  them  with  a  face  that  set  him 
trembling." 

As  the  old  lady  concluded  I  passed  an  arm 
round  Katje. 


[116] 


A  GOOD  END 

ONE  of  the  most  awe-inspiring  traits  of 
the  Vrouw  Grobelaar  was  her  familiarity 
with  the  subject  of  death.  She  had  a 
discriminating  taste  in  corpses,  and  remembered 
of  several  old  friends  only  the  figure  they  cut 
when  the  life  was  gone  from  them.  She  was  as 
opinionative  in  this  regard  as  in  all  others ;  she 
had  her  likes  and  dislikes,  and  it  is  my  firm  be- 
lief to  this  day  that  she  never  rose  to  such 
heights  of  conversational  greatness  as  when  at- 
tending a  death-bed.  It  is  on  record  that  more 
than  one  invalid  was  relieved  of  all  desire  to 
live  after  being  prepared  for  dissolution  by  the 
Vrouw  Grobelaar. 

On  the  evening  following  the  burial  of  Katrina 
Potgieter's  baby,  which  died  of  drinking  water 
after  a  surfeit  of  dried  peaches,  the  old  lady  was 
in  great  feather.  Never  were  her  reminiscences 
so  ghoulish  and  terrifying,  and  never  did  she 
hurl  her  weighty  moralities  over  so  wide  a 
scope.  Eventually  she  lapsed  into  criticism, 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

and  announced  that  the  art  of  dying  effectively 
was  little  practised  nowadays. 

"  I  hate  to  see  a  person  slink  out  of  life,"  she 
said.  "  Give  me  a  man  or  a  woman  that  knows 
all  clearly  to  the  last,  and  gives  other  people  an 
opportunity  to  see  some  little  way  into  eternity. 
After  all,  there's  nothing  more  in  dying  than 
changing  the  style  of  one's  clothes,  and  even 
the  most  paltry  folk  have  some  consideration  as 
corpses.  I  can't  see  what  there  is  to  be  afraid 
of." 

"  I  don't  think  that,"  observed  Katje.  "  Even 
if  it  wasn't  that  I  was  soon  to  be  dead  and 
buried,  the  whole  business  seems  horrible. 
Fancy  all  the  people  crowding  round  to  look 
at  you  and  cry,  while  they  talked  as  if  you 
were  already  dead.  When  Polly  Honiball  was 
dying,  old  Vrouw  Meyers  asked  her  if  she  could 
see  anything  yet.  Ugh  !  " 

The  old  lady  shook  her  head.  "  That's  not 
the  way  to  look  at  it,"  she  replied.  "  A  good 
death  is  the  sign  of  a  good  life;  or  anyhow, 
that's  how  people  judge  it.  It's  as  well  to  give 
no  room  for  talk  afterwards,  Katje.  And  as  for 
[118] 


A    GOOD    END 

the  mere  death,  no  good  Christian  fears  that. 
Why,  I  have  known  a  man  seek  death  !  " 

"  Did  he  kill  himself?"  inquired  Katje. 

"  Kill  himself !  Indeed  he  didn't.  That  would 
be  a  crime,  and  a  dreadful  scandal.  No,  he 
took  death  by  the  hand  in  a  most  seemly  and 
respectable  way,  and  his  family  were  always 
thought  the  better  of  for  it 

"  Yes,  I'll  tell  you  about  it  It  will  be  a  les- 
son to  you,  Katje,  and  I  hope  you  will  think 
about  it  and  take  it  to  heart. 

"  The  man  I  am  talking  about  was  Mynheer 
Andries  van  der  Linden,  a  most  godly  and 
prosperous  Burgher,  whose  farm  was  on  the 
High  Veld.  All  the  days  of  his  life  he  walked 
uprightly,  and  married  twice.  His  sons  and 
daughters  were  many,  and  all  good,  save  for 
one  sidelong  skellum,  Piet,  his  second  son,  who 
afterwards  went  to  live  among  the  English.  He 
had  cattle  and  sheep  at  pasture  for  miles,  and 
a  kerk  on  his  land,  where  his  nephew,  the 
Predikant,  used  to  preach.  And  by  reason  of 
his  sanctity  and  cleverness  Andries  grew  richer 
and  richer  till  the  Burghers  respected  him  so 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

much  that  they  made  him  a  commandant  and 
a  member  of  the  Church  Council. 

"All  prospered  with  him,  as  I  was  telling 
you,  until  one  day  it  seemed  as  if  God's  hand 
had  fallen  from  him.  He  was  smitten  with  a 
disease  of  which  not  the  oldest  woman  in  the 
district  had  ever  seen  the  like,  and  his  own 
flesh  became  a  curse  to  him.  The  very  marrow 
in  his  bones  bred  fire  to  feed  on  his  body,  and 
he  lay  on  his  bed  in  the  torments  of  hell.  For 
weeks  he  writhed  and  screamed  like  a  mad- 
man, tossing  on  his  blankets  and  tearing  at  his 
body,  or  struggling  and  howling  as  his  sons 
held  him  down  for  fear  he  should  injure  himself 
in  his  frenzy.  The  whole  thing  was  very  terri- 
ble and  mysterious ;  and  it  was  said  among  the 
farms  that  Andries  van  der  Linden  could  not 
have  been  so  good  after  all,  or  God  would  not 
thus  visit  him  with  such  a  scourge. 

"  For  myself,  I  never  believed  this,  and  what 
he  afterwards  did  will  show  that  I  had  the  right 
of  it.  Still,  good  or  bad,  the  affliction  was  un- 
deniable, for  I  myself  heard  him  screaming  like 
a  beast  as  I  drove  to  Nachtmaal. 
[120] 


A    GOOD    END 

"  The  malady  lasted  for  months,  and  all  herbs 
and  pills  that  were  given  him  did  not  an  atom 
of  good.  Even  the  Kafirs  could  do  nothing, 
though  Klein  Andries,  the  old  man's  eldest  son 
and  a  good  lad,  caught  a  witch-doctor  and 
sjamboked  him  to  pieces  to  make  him  help.  In 
short,  the  illness  was  plainly  beyond  mortal 
cure,  and  the  old  man  at  last  came  to  see 
this. 

"  I  should  have  told  you  that  he  had  times  of 
peace,  when  the  agony  forsook  him,  and  left 
him  limp  like  a  wet  clout  Then  he  would 
sweat  and  quake  with  terror  of  the  pains  that 
would  return ;  and  so  pitiful  was  his  condition 
that  he  could  not  even  listen  with  a  proper 
patience  to  the  reading  of  Scripture  or  the  sing- 
ing of  David's  psalms.  You  will  see  from  this 
what  a  terrible  visitation  to  a  God-fearing  man 
this  illness  was. 

"  So  he  made  up  his  mind.  One  morning 
early,  while  quietness  was  with  him,  he  called 
for  Klein  Andries  and  bade  him  shut  the  door 
of  the  room. 

" '  Andries,'  he  said,  '  I  have  been  thinking 
[121] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

the  matter  to  a  finish,  and  I  am  determined  to 
have  an  end  to  this  torment.' 

"'Have  you  found  any  means?'  began  Klein 
Andries. 

"  '  Listen/  said  the  old  man.  '  It  is  plain  to 
me  that  I  shall  gain  no  cure  on  earth,  and  I 
have  decided  to  die.  So  I  shall  die  at  the  end 
of  a  week  about  two  hours  after  sunrise.' 

"Andries  was  of  course  very  much  taken 
aback.  '  I  do  not  understand,'  he  said.  '  You 
cannot  mean  to  kill  yourself  ? ' 

"'Of  course  not,'  answered  the  old  man. 
'  That  will  be  your  part.' 

"  '  How  do  you  mean  ? '  cried  Andries. 

" '  I  shall  lie  here  in  my  bed,  with  clean  pil- 
lows and  fresh  sheets,  and  the  best  coverlet. 
Our  people  will  all  be  here, — you  will  see  to 
that, — and  when  I  have  spoken  to  them  and 
shaken  their  hands,  you  shall  bring  in  your 
rifle ' 

"'That  will  do,'  said  Klein  Andries.  'You 
need  tell  me  no  more.  I  will  not  do  it.' 

"  '  But  you  are  my  first-born,'  said  the  father. 

"  '  It  is  all  the  same  ;  I  will  not  do  it.' 
[122] 


A    GOOD    END 

"  '  Then  you  can  get  out  of  my  house,  with 
your  wife  and  your  children,  and  go  look  for  a 
stone  on  which  to  lay  your  heads.' 

"  '  That  is  very  easy,'  answered  Klein  Andries, 
quite  calmly.  '  No  doubt  we  shall  find  that  stone 
you  speak  of.' 

"  '  And  I  will  get  Piet  to  do  it,'  said  the  old 
man. 

"'No,'  replied  Klein  Andries.  'Piet  shall 
not  do  it.  Nobody  shall  do  it.  I  will  not  have 
it  done.' 

" '  Andries,'  said  the  old  man,  '  you  and  I 
must  not  talk  thus.  I  am  your  father,  and  I 
tell  you  to  do  me  this  service.  Say  rather,  I 
ask  it  of  you.  It  is  no  more  than  an  act  of  kind- 
ness to  a  stricken  man ;  your  hand  on  the  gun 
will  be  the  hand  of  mercy.' 

"  '  But  I  cannot  do  it,'  cried  out  Klein  Andries 
in  a  sort  of  pain. 

"  '  You  will  do  it,'  said  the  old  man.  '  Remem- 
ber you  are  the  eldest  of  my  sons.  You  will  do 
it,  Andries  ? ' 

"  '  No,'  said  Andries. 

'"You  will  do  it?' 

[123] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

" '  No  ! ' 

"  '  Then,  Andries,'  said  the  old  man,  half  rais- 
ing himself  as  he  lay,  and  pointing  a  finger  at 
his  son — '  then,  Andries,  eldest  son  and  dearest 
and  all,  I  will  curse  you.' 

"  For  a  full  minute  the  two  looked  each  other 
in  the  eyes,  and  then  Klein  Andries  let  his  hand 
fall  on  his  knee  like  a  man  beaten  and  broken. 

"  '  It  shall  be  as  you  say/  he  answered  at  last. 
'  I  will  do  what  you  ask,  but — it  will  spoil  my 
life  for  me.' 

" '  Thank  you,  my  son,'  said  the  old  man, 
sinking  back. 

"'Oh,  I  will  do  it,'  said  Andries.  'But  I 
hold  it  a  sin,  a  black  and  bloody  sin,  that  I 
commit  with  open  eyes  and  a  full  knowledge. 
But  I  will  do  it.' 

"  So  the  thing  happened,  and  all  that  week 
before  his  death  the  old  man  suffered  little.  As 
he  said  himself,  his  last  taste  of  life  was  sweet 
in  his  mouth.  He  thought  much  upon  his  grave 
and  the  manner  of  his  burying,  and  would  often 
talk  with  Klein  Andries  and  Piet,  and  give 
them  directions. 


A    GOOD    END 

" '  I  will  not  be  buried  in  the  kraal,'  he  said 
one  day.  •  My  sister  Greta  never  had  any  love 
for  me,  and  I  had  just  as  lief  not  disturb  her. 
Put  me  on  top  of  the  hill  there ;  I  was  always 
one  for  an  open  view.' 

"  From  where  he  lay  he  could  see  through  the 
window  the  place  where  he  desired  to  be  buried, 
and  the  grave  of  his  cousin  Cornel,  dead  twenty 
years  before. 

" '  Put  me,  then,  on  top  of  the  hill,'  he  said, 
'  and  I  shall  be  able  to  overlook  Cornel.  He 
has  a  head-board  with  a  round  top,  so  you  will 
give  me  two  boards,  one  at  my  head  and  one  at 
my  feet,  both  with  round  tops.  You  would  not 
have  that  carrion  triumph  over  me  ? ' 

"  '  It  shall  be  done,'  said  Andries. 

"  '  And  you  might  carve  a  verse  on  my  head- 
board,' the  old  man  went  on.  '  Cornel  has  only 
his  name  and  dates,  and  no  doubt  he  counts  on 
my  having  no  more.  His  board  is  only  painted ; 
see  that  you  carve  mine.' 

" '  I  do  not  carve  letters  very  well,'  began 
Andries,  'but ' 

" '  Oh,  you  carve  well  enough,'  said  the  old 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

man.  'Very  well  indeed,  considering.  You 
won't  have  to  do  very  much.  There  are  plenty 
of  short  verses  in  the  Psalms,  and  some — very 
good  ones,  too — in  Proverbs.  The  Predikant 
will  soon  choose  a  verse  of  the  right  sort.  Say 
a  verse,  Andries  ;  it  is  not  much.' 

" '  I  will  see  to  it,'  said  Andries. 

"  Then  Piet,  whose  mind  was  a  dunghill,  had 
a  horrible  thought.  '  But  what  about  the  water  ? ' 
he  cried,  for  the  stream  from  which  they  took 
their  drinking-water  ran  past  the  foot  of  the  hill. 

"'You  must  draw  your  water  higher  up, 
answered  the  old  man.  '  If  I  were  not  about  to 
die,  Piet,  and  therefore  under  a  need  to  judge 
not,  lest  I  be  judged,  I  would  cut  down  your 
oxen  and  sheep  for  that  Go  out;  I  will  say 
what  I  have  to  say  to  Andries.' 

"  When  Piet  was  gone  he  went  on.  '  Re- 
member, Andries,  a  bare  four  foot,  no  more.  I 
would  not  wish  to  be  late  when  the  dead  arise. 
Just  four  foot  of  cool  earth,  and  a  black  coffn 
with  plenty  of  room  in  it.' 

"  '  I  will  take  care,'  replied  Klein  Andries. 

" '  Very  well,  do  as  I  have  told  you,  and  I 
[126] 


A    GOOD    END 

shall  be  very  well  off.  I  shall  sleep  without 
pain  till  the  last  day,  and  perhaps  dream  in 
peace  about  the  verse  on  my  head-board  and 
the  round  tops.' 

"  Although  I  like  a  man  to  take  it  bravely,  I 
can  very  well  understand  that  that  week  must 
have  been  a  terrible  one  for  Klein  Andries, 
who,  though  a  good  lad,  and  a  wealthy  man  at 
this  day,  never  was  particularly  quick  at  taking 
up  an  idea.  He  went  about  with  a  bowed  head 
and  empty  eyes,  like  a  man  in  mortal  shame  ; 
and  I  believe  that  never  since  has  he  quite  cast 
off  the  load  his  father  laid  on  him.  Not  that  I 
see  any  harm  in  the  affair  myself. 

"  Well,  in  proper  course  the  day  came,  and 
Andries  van  der  Linden  lay  in  his  bed  between 
the  fresh  sheets,  propped  up  with  fine  clean  pil- 
lows. His  people  had  come  from  near  and  far, 
for  the  curious  story  was  well  known,  and  they 
were  proud  of  their  kinsman.  They  crowded 
the  room  in  which  he  lay,  all  in  their  best 
clothes,  a  little  uneasy,  as  most  folks  are  on 
great  occasions,  and  all  very  quiet. 

"  Old  Andries  van  der  Linden  was  free  from 
[127] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

pain,  and  spoke  to  them  all  in  very  cheerful 
and  impressing  words.  As  he  lay  among  his 
pillows  with  his  white  hah-  thrown  back  and  his 
beard  on  his  breast,  he  was  a  fine  man  to  see — 
a  picture  of  a  good  and  a  brave  man.  He  read 
aloud  from  the  Bible,  and  then  prayed  awhile, 
giving  out  his  words  grandly  and  without  a 
quaver.  Then  he  shook  them  all  by  the  hand 
and  bade  each  one  good-bye. 

" '  Now,  Andries,'  he  said,  and  lay  back  smil- 
ing. 

"  Klein  Andries  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed 
with  his  rifle  resting  across  the  rail,  but  he 
dropped  his  head  with  a  sob. 

" '  I  cannot,'  he  said,  '  I  cannot' 

" '  Come,  Andries,'  said  the  old  man  again. 
'  Come,  my  son.' 

"  Then  Klein  Andries  caught  his  breath  in  his 
throat  and  steadied  the  rifle.  The  old  man  lay 
calmly,  still  smiling,  with  fearless  eyes. 

" '  Close  your  eyes,'  said  Andries  hoarsely, 
and  as  the  old  man  did  so  he  fired. 

"  The  windows  of  the  room  were  blown  out- 
wards and  broken,  but  the  shot  was  a  true 
[128] 


A    GOOD    END 

one,  and  the  work  was  well  and  workmanlike 
done." 

"  It  must  have  spoiled  the  sheets,"  observed 
Katje. 


[129] 


VASCO'S   SWEETHEART 

"      il     S  to  that,"  said  the  Vrouw  Grobelaar, 

/-\  answering  a   point   that   no  one  had 

raised,  "it   has    been   seen   over  and 

over  again  that  sin  leaves  its  mark.     Do  you 

not  trust  or  avoid  a  man  because  there  is  honor 

or  wickedness  in  his  face  ?     Ah,  men's  faces  are 

the  writing  on  the  wall,  and  only  the  Belshaz- 

zars  cannot  read  them. 

"  But  the  marks  go  deeper  than  a  lowering 
brow  or  a  cruel  mouth.  Men  may  die  and 
leave  behind  them  no  monuments  save  their 
sin.  Of  such  a  case  I  remember  one  instance. 

"  Before  my  second  husband  was  married  to 
his  first  wife  he  lived  out  yonder,  on  the  Portu- 
guese border,  and  in  the  thick  of  the  fever 
country.  I  have  not  seen  the  place,  but  it  is 
badly  spoken  of  for  a  desolate,  unchancy  land, 
bad  for  cattle,  and  only  good  to  hunters.  My 
second  husband  was  a  great  hunter,  and  died, 
as  you  know,  through  having  his  body  crushed 
[130] 


VASCO'S    SWEETHEART 

by  a  lion.  The  people  out  there  are  not  good 
Boer  stock,  but  a  wild  and  savage  folk,  with 
dark  blood  in  them. 

"  I  only  know  this  story  from  my  second  hus- 
band, but  it  took  hold  of  me,  as  he  used  to  tell 
it.  There  was  a  family  in  those  parts  of  the 
name  of  Preez.  No  relation  to  the  Du  Preez 
you  know,  who  are  well  enough  in  their  way, 
but  Preez  simply, — a  short  name  and  a  bad 
one.  They  were  big  holders  of  land,  with  every 
reason  to  be  rich,  but  bad  farmers,  lazy  hunters, 
and  deep  drinkers.  The  Kafirs  down  there 
make  a  drink  out  of  fruit  which  is  very  fiery 
and  conquers  a  man  quickly,  and  these  people 
were  always  to  be  seen  half  drunk,  or  else 
stupid  from  the  stuff.  Old  Preez,  the  father,  in 
particular,  was  a  terrible  man,  by  all  tellings ; 
full  threescore  and  ten  years  of  age,  but  strong, 
fiery,  and  full  of  oaths.  My  second  husband 
used  to  say  there  was  something  in  the  look  of 
him  that  daunted  one;  for  his  hair  and  his 
beard  were  white,  his  face  was  savagely  red, 
and  his  eyes  were  like  hot  coals.  And  with  it 
all  he  had  a  way  of  looking  on  you  that  made 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

you  run  from  him.  When  he  was  down  with 
drink  and  fever  he  would  cry  out  in  a  terrible 
voice  that  his  mother  was  a  queen's  daughter 
and  he  was  a  prince." 

"  I  have  heard  of  the  people  you  speak  of," 
I  said.  "They  are  half-Portuguese,  and  per- 
haps the  old  man  was  not  wholly  lying." 

"Uml  Well,  prince  or  not,  he  married  in 
his  youth  a  woman  of  the  half-blood,  and  begot 
of  her  a  troop  of  devils.  Five  sons  he  had,  all 
great  men,  knowing  not  God  and  fearing  none 
of  God's  works.  And  after  them  came  a 
daughter,  a  puling  slip  of  a  thing,  never  meant 
to  live,  whom  they  did  to  death  among  them 
with  their  drinking  and  blaspheming  and 
fighting. 

"My  second  husband  told  me  tales  of  that 
family  that  set  my  blood  freezing.  He  had  his 
own  way  of  telling  stories,  and  made  you  see 
pictures,  as  it  were.  Once,  he  used  to  say,  for 
a  trifle  spoken  concerning  them  and  their  ways, 
they  visited  a  missionary  by  night,  dragged 
him  from  his  bed,  and  crucified  him  against  his 
door,  while  his  wife  clung  to  the  old  man's 
[132] 


VASCO'S    SWEETHEART 

knees  and  besought  the  mercy  they  never  gave 
and  never  got.  Even  the  wild  folk  of  the 
countryside  were  stricken  with  the  horror  and 
impiety  of  the  deed ;  and  it  says  much  for  the 
fear  in  which  the  Preez  family  were  held  that 
none  molested  them  or  called  them  to  account. 

"  In  the  end  the  eldest  of  the  five  sons  took  a 
mind  to  marry  and  to  leave  some  of  his  ac- 
cursed stock  to  plague  the  world  when  it  should 
be  delivered  from  him  and  his  brothers.  They 
cast  about  for  a  wife  for  him,  and  were  not  con- 
tent with  the  first  that  offered.  They  had  their 
pride,  the  Preez,  and  in  their  place  a  fair  meas- 
ure of  respect,  for  among  the  wicked,  you 
know,  the  devil  is  king.  From  one  farmhouse 
to  another  they  rode,  dragging  forth  women 
and  girls  to  be  looked  at  like  cattle.  Many  a 
tall,  black-browed  hussy  would  have  been  con- 
tent to  go  away  with  Vasco  Preez  (such  was  his 
unchristian  name),  but  he  was  not  willing  to  do 
right  by  any  of  them. 

"  They  were  returning  home  from  one  of  these 
expeditions  when  they  passed  a  lowly  house  be- 
side the  road  with  no  fence  around  it.  But  be- 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

fore  the  house  a  girl  stood  on  the  grass,  with 
her  kapje  in  her  hand,  to  see  the  six  big  men 
ride  by.  She  was  little  and  slim,  and,  unlike 
the  maidens  of  the  country,  whitish,  with  a 
bunch  of  yellow  hair  on  the  top  of  her  head 
and  hanging  over  her  ears.  The  others  would 
have  passed  her  by,  judging  her  unworthy  even 
an  insult,  but  Vasco  reined  in  his  horse  and 
shouted  a  great  oath. 

" '  The  woman  for  me ! '  he  cried.  '  The 
woman  I  was  looking  for !  I  never  knew  what 
I  wanted  before.' 

"The  others  halted  to  look,  and  the  girl, 
frightened,  ran  into  the  house.  Vasco  got  down 
from  his  horse. 

" '  Fetch  the  filly  out,'  shouted  the  old  man. 
'  Fetch  her  out  and  let  us  see  her  paces.' 

"  Vasco  walked  straight  into  the  little  house, 
while  the  others  waited,  laughing.  They  heard 
no  screams  and  no  fighting,  and  presently  out 
comes  Vasco  alone. 

"  He  went  over  to  his  horse  and  mounted. 
'  There  is  nothing  to  wait  for,'  he  said.  '  Let  us 
be  getting  on.' 

[134] 


VASCO'S    SWEETHEART 

" '  But  the  girl  ? '  cried  one  of  his  brothers. 
'  Is  she  dead,  or  what  ? ' 

" '  No/  said  Vasco, '  but  she  would  not  come.' 

"  'Would  not  come  ! '  bellowed  the  old  father, 
while  the  others  laughed.  '  Did  you  say  she 
would  not  come  ? ' 

"  '  That  is  what  I  said,'  answered  Vasco,  sit- 
ting his  horse  very  straight,  and  scowling  at  the 
lot  of  them. 

"  '  He  has  a  fever,'  cried  the  old  man,  looking 
from  one  to  another.  '  He  is  light  in  the  head. 
My  faith  !  I  believe  the  girl  has  been  beating 
him  with  a  stick.  Here,  one  of  you,'  he  roared, 
turning  on  them,  '  get  down  and  kick  the  girl  out 
of  the  door.  We'll  have  a  look  at  the  witch  ! ' 

"  Koos,  the  youngest,  sprang  from  his  saddle 
and  made  towards  the  house  ;  but  he  was  not 
gone  five  paces  before  Vasco  spurred  his  horse 
on  to  him  and  knocked  him  down. 

"  '  Keep  off,'  he  said  then,  turning  to  face 
them  all,  as  Koos  rose  slowly.  '  If  I  cannot 
bring  the  girl  out  none  of  you  can,  and  you  had 
better  not  try.  Whoever  does  will  be  hurt,  for 
I  shall  stand  in  front  of  the  door.' 
[135] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

"  And  he  went  straight  to  the  house,  and,  dis- 
mounting, stood  in  the  doorway,  with  his  hands 
resting  on  the  beam  above  his  head.  He  was  a 
big  man,  and  he  filled  the  door. 

" '  Hear  him,'  foamed  the  old  father.  '  God, 
if  I  were  as  young  as  any  of  you,  I  would  drag 
the  girl  across  his  body.  Sons,  he  has  defied 
us,  and  the  girl  has  bewitched  him.  Run  at 
him,  lads,  and  bring  them  both  out  1 ' 

"  They  all  came  towards  the  house  in  a  body, 
but  stopped  when  Vasco  raised  his  hand. 

" '  I  warn  you,'  he  told  them — '  I  warn  you  to 
let  the  matter  be.  This  will  not  be  an  affair  of 
fighting,  with  only  broken  bones  to  mend  when 
it  is  over.  If  I  take  hold  of  any  one  after  this 
warning,  that  man  will  be  cold  before  the  sun 
sets.  And  to  show  you  how  useless  this  quar- 
rel is,  I  will  ask  the  girl  once  more  if  she  will 
come  out  You  all  saw  her  ? ' 

"'Yes,'  they  answered;  'but  what  is  this 
foolery  about  asking  her  ? ' 

" '  You  saw  her — very  well.'     He  raised  his 
voice  and  called  into  the  house,  '  Meisje,  will 
you  not  come  out  ?     I  ask  you  to.' 
[136] 


VASCO'S    SWEETHEART 

"  There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  and  then 
they  heard  the  answer.  '  No,'  it  said ;  '  I  will 
stay  where  I  am.  And  you  are  to  go  away.' 

'"As  soon  as  may  be,  my  girl,'  called  Vasco 
in  answer.  'Now,'  he  said  to  the  men,  'you 
see  she  will  not  come.' 

'"But,  man,  in  the  name  of  God,  cast  her 
over  your  shoulder  and  carry  her  out,'  cried  the 
father. 

"  Vasco  looked  at  him.  '  Not  this  one,'  he 
said.  '  She  shall  do  as  she  pleases.' 

"  Then  they  rushed  on  him,  but  he  stepped 
out  from  the  door,  and  caught  young  Koos 
round  the  middle.  With  one  giant's  heave  he 
raised  him  aloft  and  dashed  him  at  the  gang, 
scattering  them  right  and  left,  and  knocking 
one  to  the  ground,  where  he  remained  motion- 
less. But  Koos  lay  like  a  broken  tool  or  a 
smashed  vessel,  as  dead  men  lie.  And  all  the 
while  Vasco  talked  to  them. 

"  '  Come  on,'  he  was  saying.     '  Come  all  of 
you.     We  shall  never  do  anything  but  fight 
now.     I  see  plainly  we  ought  to  have  fought 
long  ago.     Bring  her  out,  indeed,' 
['37] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

"  They  paused  after  that,  aghast  at  the  fury 
of  the  man  they  were  contending  against.  But 
the  old  man  gave  them  no  rest. 

"  '  Get  sticks,'  he  cried  to  them — '  get  sticks 
and  kill  him.' 

"  They  dragged  beams  from  a  hut  roof,  and 
one  of  them  took  a  heavy  stone.  Vasco  stood 
back  and  watched  them  till  they  came  forward 
again. 

"The  one  with  the  stone  came  first,  but  it 
was  too  big  to  throw  from  a  distance,  and  he 
dared  not  go  near.  The  others  approached 
with  caution,  and  Vasco  stood  still,  with  his 
hands  resting  as  before  at  the  top  of  the  door. 
They  were  bewildered  at  his  manner,  and  very 
cautious,  but  at  length  they  drew  near  and 
rushed  at  him. 

"Then  a  most  astonishing  thing  happened. 
With  one  wrench  Vasco  tore  the  thick  archi- 
trave from  the  wall,  a  beam  as  thick  as  a  man's 
thigh,  and  smote  into  the  middle  of  them. 
Where  he  hit  the  bone  gave  and  the  flesh  fell 
away,  and  as  they  ran  from  before  him  the 
wall  fell  in. 

[138] 


VASCO'S    SWEETHEART 

"  Down  came  the  wall,  and  with  it  the  heavy 
beams  on  the  roof.  The  old  father,  cursing 
over  a  broken  arm,  heard  the  girl  scream,  and 
saw  the  wreck  come  crashing  about  Vasco's 
shoulders  till  he  disappeared  below  it.  And 
then,  where  the  house  had  been  stood  a  ruin, 
with  two  souls  buried  in  the  midst  of  it. 

"  It  steadied  them  like  a  dash  of  cold  water. 
However  they  might  fight  among  themselves, 
they  were  loyal  to  one  another.  Besides  the 
old  father,  with  his  broken  arm,  there  was  only 
one  other  that  could  put  a  hand  to  the  work, 
and  together  they  started  to  drag  away  the 
beams  and  bricks  and  stones  that  covered 
Vasco  and  the  girl. 

"  I  know  they  were  wicked  men  who  are  in 
hell  long  since,  but  I  cannot  contain  a  sort  of 
admiration  for  the  spirit  that  fastened  them  to 
their  toil  all  that  long  night, — the  old  man  with 
his  broken  arm,  the  young  one  with  a  dozen 
horrid  wounds.  As  the  sky  paled  towards 
morning,  they  discovered  the  girl  dead,  and 
leaving  her  where  she  lay  they  wrought  on  to 
uncover  Vasco. 

['39] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

"  When  they  found  him  he  was  crushed  and 
broken,  and  pierced  in  many  places  with  splin- 
ters and  jagged  broken  ends  of  wood.  But  he 
had  his  senses  still,  and  smiled  as  they  cleared 
the  thatch  from  above  his  face. 

"  The  old  man  looked  at  him  carefully.  '  You 
are  dying,  my  son,'  he  said. 

" '  Of  course/  answered  Vasco.  '  Is  that  Re- 
nault ? '  He  smiled  again  at  his  brother.  '  So 
there  are  two  of  you  alive,  anyhow.  How 
about  the  others  ? ' 

"'Two  dead,'  answered  his  father.  'And 
the  other  will  not  walk  again  all  his  days. 
You  are  a  terrible  fighter,  my  son.' 

" '  Yes,'  answered  Vasco,  in  a  faint  voice. 
'  It  was  the  girl,  you  see.' 

"  '  She  was  a  witch,  then  ? '  asked  the  old  man. 

"'No,'  said  Vasco  smiling.  'Or  perhaps, 
yes.  I  do  not  know.  But  I  will  fight  for  her 
again  if  you  like.' 

" '  Oho  !  so  that  is  it,'  and  the  old  man  knelt 
down  beside  him.  'Now,  I  see,'  he  said.  'I 
never  guessed  before — did  not  know  it  was  in 
you.  My  son,  I  ask  you  to  forgive  us.' 


VASCO'S    SWEETHEART 

"  '  I  forgive,  but  where  is  she?' 

" '  Dead.  No,  it  was  none  of  our  doing. 
You  did  it, — the  roof  fell  on  her.  We  will  lay 
you  together.' 

"'Do  so,'  replied  Vasco.  'I  think  I  am 
dying  now.' 

"  '  Yes,'  answered  the  father.  '  Your  face  is 
becoming  gray.  Your  throat  will  rattle  in  a 
minute.  Look  here;  this  is  what  my  mother 
used  to  do.' 

"  And  he  did  thus,"  said  the  Vrouw  Grobelaar, 
giving  a  very  good  imitation  of  the  sign  of  the 
cross. 

"But  that  was  not  a  bad  ending,"  cried 
Katje.  "I  think  it  was  beautiful.  I  hope 
Vasco  and  the  girl  went  straight  to  God." 

The  Vrouw  Grobelaar  sighed. 


[HI] 


THE   PERUVIAN 

FROM  her  pocket  Katje  produced  stealth- 
ily a  clean-scoured  wish-bone.  The 
Vrouw  Grobelaar  was  sleeping  in  her 
chair  with  tight-shut  eyes.  So  I  took  one  end 
of  the  bone,  and  we  broke  it,  and  the  wish  re- 
mained with  Katje. 

"  Wish  quick,"  I  said. 

She  puckered  her  pretty  brows  with  a  charm- 
ing childish  thoughtfulness. 

"  I  can't  think  of  anything  to  wish  for,"  she 
answered. 

"  Wish  to  be  delivered  from  the  sin  of  play- 
ing with  witchcraft  and  dirty  old  bones ! "  The 
suggestion  echoed  roundly  in  the  old  lady's 
deep  tones,  and  we,  startled  and  abashed, 
looked  up  to  find  her  wide  awake,  and  in  her 
didactic  mood.  The  Vrouw  Grobelaar  never 
slept  to  any  real  purpose.  One  might  have  re- 
membered that. 

"  Yes,    witchcraft,"    she    pursued.      "  For  if 


THE    PERUVIAN 

bones  are  not  witchcraft,  tell  me  what  is? 
When  a  Hottentot  wants  to  find  a  strayed  ox, 
he  makes  magic  with  bones,  doesn't  he  ?  And 
the  bones  of  a  dead  baboon  are  dangerous 
things  too.  Katje,  throw  that  bone  away." 

Katje,  who  hated  to  be  found  out,  threw  it 
over  the  rail  of  the  stoop  into  the  kraal.  When 
the  good  Vrouw  had  kept  her  steady  eye  on 
me  for  a  few  seconds,  I  threw  my  half  after 
Katje's. 

"I  thought  so,"  said  the  Vrouw  Grobelaar, 
with  a  twitch  of  the  lips  like  a  smile  stillborn. 

"  It's  only  a  game,"  said  Katje  plaintively. 
"  There's  no  harm  in  it." 

The  old  lady  shook  her  head. 

"  There's  harm  in  things  you  don't  under- 
stand," she  pronounced.  "There's  harm  in 
falling  in  love,  for  instance,  if  you  don't  know 
what  you  are  doing.  But  witchcraft  is  worse 
than  anything.  You've  seen  how  hard  it  is  to 
make  a  Kafir  doctor  show  his  tricks.  That's 
because  he's  never  certain  which  is  master,  he 
or  the  devil.  I  knew  a  man  once,  a  Peruvian, 
who  burned  his  fingers  badly." 
[H3] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

A  Peruvian,  for  the  Vrouw  Grobelaar,  was 
any  one  for  whose  nationality  she  had  no  name. 
In  Johannesburg  it  means  a  Polish  Jew  ;  in  this 
instance  I  believe  the  man  was  a  Greek. 

"He  was  a  smouser"  (pedlar),  she  went  on, 
"  a  little  cowering  man,  with  a  black  beard  and 
a  white  face,  who  spoke  Kafir  better  than  he 
spoke  the  Taal.  He  sold  thimbles  and  pills 
and  hymn-books  to  the  wives  and  daughters  of 
Burghers,  and  grand  watches  and  cheap 
diamonds  to  the  Kafirs.  It  was  a  dirty  little 
trade,  and  there  was  nothing  about  the  man 
that  streaked  it  with  nobility.  I  remember  a 
Scotch  smouser,  who  was  called  Peter  Piper, 
who  sold  pills  like  a  chemist,  and  everybody 
liked  him  and  respected  him,  till  he  had  his 
great  dispute  with  the  Predikant  at  Dopfontein. 
But  this  little  man  was  like  a  slimy  thing  made 
to  crawl  on  its  belly ;  and  many  is  the  time  he 
would  have  been  sjamboked  from  a  door,  were 
it  not  for — well,  I  don't  know.  But  he  was 
such  a  mean  helpless  thing,  that,  when  he 
shrank  away  and  looked  up,  with  his  white  eyes 
[144] 


THE    PERUVIAN 

staring  and  his  lips  parted,  not  the  most  wrath- 
ful Burgher  could  lift  a  whip. 

"  And  even  as  he  seemed  to  fear  everything, 
the  Kafirs  certainly  feared  him.  Kafirs,  you 
know,  go  naked  to  all  the  little  winds,  and  the 
breezes  that  will  not  hurt  a  thatch  carry  death 
to  them.  They  are  deaf  to  God,  but  the  devil 
has  but  to  whisper,  and  they  hear.  They 
bought  shameful  watches  and  sleepy  diamonds 
from  the  Peruvian,  as  they  kill  a  goat  at  the 
flowering  of  the  crops — to  appease  something 
that  might  else  visit  them  in  the  night.  It  was 
a  thing  much  spoken  of,  and  since  even  among 
the  Burghers  there  are  folks  who  dirty  their 
fingers  with  magic  and  wish-bones — ay,  you 
may  well  pout  1 — perhaps  this  had  something 
to  do  with  the  fact  that  he  was  never  flogged  to 
the  beacons  and  kicked  across. 

"  In  fact,  there  grew  up  about  him  a  some- 
thing of  mystery,  uncanny  and  not  respectable. 
The  little  plodding  man  who  went  so  meekly 
past  our  gates  had  a  shadow  one  feared  to  tread 
on. 

[H5] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

"You  won't  remember,  but  you  will  have 
heard  of,  the  terrible  to-do  there  was  when 
Freda  van  der  Byl  disappeared.  She  was  a 
most  ordinary  girl,  perhaps  eighteen  years  old, 
with  a  fine  appetite,  and  nothing  whatsoever 
about  her  that  was  strange  or  extraordinary : 
and  yet  one  night  she  was  missing,  and  it  has 
never  been  set  past  doubt  who  saw  her  last. 
She  was  on  the  stoop  in  the  afternoon,  ate  well 
at  supper,  went  out  then  in  the  usual  way  to 
the  hut  where  the  tobacco-sacks  were,  and  never 
came  in  again.  She  disappeared  like  a  flame 
blown  out,  with  never  a  spoor  to  give  direction 
to  those  that  sought  her,  without  a  shred  of 
clothing  on  a  thorn-bush  to  hint  at  a  tale.  She 
seemed  to  have  fled  clean  out  of  the  world — a 
big  ten-stone  girl  with  red  hair  melted  like  a 
bubble. 

"  And  how  they  hunted  for  her !  Old  Johan- 
nes van  der  Byl  and  his  sons  went  through  the 
country  like  locusts,  and  with  them  were  a  mob 
of  relations  and  friends,  and  some  prospectors 
from  the  Hangklip  who  betted  about  it  Every 
kloof  was  scoured,  every  Kafir  stad  and  kraal 
[146] 


THE    PERUVIAN 

turned  inside  out,  and  the  half  of  them  burned. 
Their  ponies  streaked  the  long  grass  of  the  veld 
for  miles ;  the  men,  their  loaded  rifles  in  hand, 
were  abroad  late  and  early ;  and  yet  they  never 
found  even  a  shoe-sole  or  a  shred  of  hair  to 
give  them  a  clue.  The  witch-doctors  would 
have  been  glad  enough  to  find  her,  for  they 
were  flogged  from  morning  to  night,  and 
Barend  van  der  Byl  beat  the  life  out  of  one  who 
did  not  seem  to  be  doing  his  best.  If  Freda 
had  been  anywhere  in  the  veld  she  would  have 
been  found,  so  fervently  did  the  Kafirs  hunt 
her  in  order  to  get  a  little  peace  and  security. 

"  But  nothing  availed  ;  no  trace  of  her  came 
to  light,  and  even  the  women  of  her  family 
grew  tired  of  weeping.  But  one  hot  dusty  af- 
ternoon, when  her  brothers  Jacobus  and  Piet 
were  riding  home  from  the  fruitless  search,  they 
came  upon  the  Peruvian  sitting  under  a  bush 
smoking  his  yellow  cigarettes.  He  glanced  up 
at  them  as  they  went  past,  slavish  as  ever,  yet 
still  with  that  subtle  significance  of  mien  that 
made  him  noteworthy,  and  suddenly  Jacobus 
reined  up. 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

"'Piet,'  he  called,  pointing  with  his  sjambok. 
Look — our  last  chance  ! ' 

"  Piet  did  not  understand. 

"'We  have  been  cutting  the  Kafir  doctors 
into  ribbons,'  explained  Jacobus,  '  and  they  were 
no  good.  But  here  is  a  wizard,  and  a  white 
one,  who  won't  wait  to  be  flogged.  If  he  can 
do  nothing,  then  there  is  nothing  to  do.  Let 
us  bring  him  along,  Piet.' 

"  Piet  was  a  fat  youth,  deadly  strong,  who 
never  spoke  while  there  was  work  to  do.  He 
merely  dropped  from  his  saddle  and  caught  the 
Peruvian  deftly  by  the  back  of  the  neck.  The 
smouser,  of  course,  whined  and  squirmed,  but 
Piet  was  the  man  who  broke  the  bullock's  neck 
at  Bothaskraal,  and  he  made  no  difficulty  of 
tying  the  little  man's  wrists  to  his  off  stirrup. 
All  his  trinkets  and  fallals  they  left  behind,  and 
riding  at  a  walk,  talking  calmly  between  them- 
selves of  the  buck  with  wide  horns  that  the 
Predikant's  cousin  missed,  they  dragged  the 
little  smouser  to  the  homestead. 

"  Several  of  the  men  had  already  come  back, 
and  when  they  heard  Jacobus's  plan,  some  were 
[148] 


THE    PERUVIAN 

openly  afraid  and  wished  to  have  the  Peruvian 
set  loose.  But  Oom  Johannes  cursed  at  them 
and  smacked  Jacobus  on  the  back. 

" '  My  daughter  is  lost,  and  evil  tongues  are 
active  about  her,'  he  roared.  'I  want  her 
back,  and  I  don't  care  how  she  comes.  Come 
to  supper,  Jacobus;  and  afterwards  you  shall 
take  your  smouser  into  a  hut  and  persuade 
him.' 

"  It  was  not  an  easy  thing  to  make  the  Pe- 
ruvian understand  what  was  wanted  of  him. 
But  by  and  by,  when  he  had  been  argued  with 
in  Dutch  and  Kafir,  and  shown  a  skull  that  was 
found  in  a  kloof,  and  the  dot  oss,  and  a  picture 
in  the  Bible  of  the  Witch  of  Endor,  he  suddenly 
grasped  the  idea,  and  grinned.  Piet  spat  on 
the  ground  as  the  white  teeth  gleamed  through 
the  greasy  black  beard. 

" '  Yes,  perhaps  I  can  do  that,'  said  the  Peru- 
vian, in  the  Taal.  '  Perhaps,  but  one  cannot  be 
sure.  You  will  pay,  eh  ? ' 

"  Jacobus  wanted  to  threaten,  but  Oom  Jo- 
hannes would  not  have  it. 

" '  Find  my  girl,'  he  said,  '  and  you  shall  be 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

paid.  Fifty  pounds  for  any  news  of  her,  more 
if  she  is  alive  and  well.' 

"  But  the  smouser  explained  that  he  could 
only  find  her  if  she  were  dead. 

"'I  can  get  her  to  speak,  perhaps,'  he  said. 
'More?  No!' 

"  At  last  Jacobus  and  Piet  took  him  into  one 
of  the  big  huts  and  gave  him  the  little  lamp 
that  he  demanded.  He  set  it  in  the  middle  of 
the  floor,  and  when  they  pulled  to  the  door  be- 
hind them  the  big  domed  hut  was  still  almost 
dark,  save  for  the  ring  of  quiet  light  in  the 
centre  that  flickered  a  little. 

" '  I  wish  he  could  do  this  kind  of  thing  when 
I'm  not  there,'  grumbled  Jacobus,  who  hated 
creepy  things. 

"  '  Hush  !  be  quiet ! '  commanded  the  Peru- 
vian, and  the  two  young  men  sat  down,  very 
close  together,  with  their  backs  to  the  door. 

"  The  first  thing  that  the  Peruvian  did  was  to 
take  off  all  his  clothes,  and  then  he  came  into 
the  dim  circle  of  light  mother-naked.  He  was 
a  little  man  at  best,  but  Piet  said  afterwards  the 
muscles  stood  out  under  his  swarthy  skin  in 


THE    PERUVIAN 

knots  and  ridges.  And  there  he  stood,  facing 
them  across  the  lamp,  with  his  arms  stretched 
forwards  and  his  hands  just  fluttering  loosely. 
Nothing  more.  His  eyes  were  upturned  and 
his  face  lifted,  so  that  a  streak  of  shadow  rose 
across  it,  and  the  black  beard  against  his  neck 
rose  and  fell  with  his  breathing.  But  for  the 
gentle  flutter  of  his  hands  and  the  heave  of  his 
chest  he  was  still  as  stone — so  still  that  for 
those  who  watched  him  all  relation  to  human 
kind  seemed  to  leave  him,  and  he  was  a  being 
alone  in  a  twilight  world  of  his  own,  a  creature 
as  remote  and  as  little  to  be  understood  as  the 
spirits  of  the  dead. 

"Have  you  ever,  when  wakeful  in  a  hot 
night,  with  darkness  all  about  you,  called  your- 
self by  name  again  and  again  ?  It  was  a  trick 
we  dared  sometimes  when  I  was  a  girl.  After 
a  while  it  is  something  else  that  is  calling, 
something  of  you  but  not  in  you,  to  which  your 
soul  answers  at  last ;  and  if  you  go  on  till  the 
will  to  call  is  no  longer  your  own,  the  soul  goes 
forth  in  response  to  it,  and  you  are  dead.  And 
even  so,  gaunt  in  the  beam  of  the  lamp,  the 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

Peruvian  seemed  to  insist  upon  himself,  till  the 
eyes  of  the  watchers  were  for  him  only,  till  that 
which  they  saw  was  less  the  mean  body  of  the 
smouser  than  the  vehicle  of  the  potent  soul 
within. 

"Piet  was  a  youth  as  solid  in  mind  as  in 
body,  and  ere  the  scene  grasped  him  against 
his  will  he  says  he  saw  with  an  angry  impa- 
tience the  flicker  of  a  leer  on  the  darkened  face 
of  the  Peruvian.  But  it  did  not  last  In  a  few 
minutes  the  two  young  Burghers  were  not  the 
only  ones  whom  the  spell  had  subdued — the 
wizard  was  netted  too.  And  then,  as  he  stood, 
his  hands  still  fluttering,  they  heard  him  drone 
a  string  of  words,  a  dull  chant,  level  like  an 
incantation,  inevitably  apt  to  the  hour  and  the 
event. 

"  They  did  not  know  how  long  they  crouched, 
watching  unwinkingly  till  their  eyes  grew  sore ; 
but  at  last  it  seemed  that  the  posturing  and 
the  words  had  made  something  due.  Jacobus 
started  as  though  from  sleep,  and  Piet,  who 
was  not  till  then  frightened,  looked  up  quickly. 
He  caught  sight  of  something — a  shadow,  a 
[152] 


THE    PERUVIAN 

hint,  a  presence  in  the  darkness  behind  the 
naked  man,  and  knew,  somehow,  with  a  cold- 
ness of  alarm,  that  IT  had  arrived.  He  barely 
realized  this  knowledge  when  the  power  of  the 
quietness  and  the  jugglery  were  rudely  sun- 
dered, and  the  Peruvian,  shrieking  and  cluck- 
ing in  his  throat,  dived  towards  them  and  tried 
to  hide.  He  plunged  frantically  against  the 
door,  which  gave  and  let  him  fall  through,  and 
in  a  moment,  with  the  cold  sweat  of  horror 
upon  them,  Piet  and  Jacobus  struggled  through 
after  him  and  ran  with  still  hearts  for  the  house. 

"  But  in  that  moment  that  he  was  jammed  in 
the  narrow  doorway  with  his  brother,  Piet  saw 
into  the  hut,  and  there  was  something  there. 
There  was  another  with  them. 

"  They  came  fast  to  the  lighted  room  upon 
the  heels  of  the  naked  Peruvian,  who  fell  on 
his  face  and  writhed,  weeping  in  sheer  terror. 
There  was  alarm,  and  chairs  overturned,  and 
screaming  of  women,  and  it  was  long  before 
they  could  get  the  smouser  to  his  feet  and 
bring  him  to  speech.  And  then  he  would  not 
go  a  foot  away  from  them. 

[153] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

"  '  It  came ;  it  came  ! '  he  babbled,  quivering 
under  the  table-cloth  they  had  cast  over  his 
nakedness.  '  It  came — behind  me  1 '  and  forth- 
with he  began  to  stammer  in  his  own  strange 
tongue. 

'"What  was  it?'  demanded  Oom  Johannes, 
who  was  beginning  to  feel  nervous. 

"'There  was  a  ghost!'  was  all  that  Piet 
could  tell  him.  '  It  frightened  the  smouser.  It 
frightened  all  of  us.' 

"  And  by  this  time  the  smouser  was  babbling 
again,  turning  from  one  to  the  other,  like  one 
who  excuses  himself. 

" '  I  did  not  bring  it,'  he  wailed.  '  I  did  noth- 
ing— only  tricks.  Just  tricks  to  get  money — 
and  it  came  behind  me.  Mother  of  God !  It 
came  behind  me ! ' 

"  Not  one  of  them  ventured  beyond  the  door 
that  night  They  had  not  even  the  heart  to 
turn  the  smouser  out,  though  he  expected  noth- 
ing less,  and  clung  howling  to  Piet's  knees  when 
the  lad  rose  to  bolt  the  door.  But  in  the  morn- 
ing he  was  gone,  and" — here  the  Vrouw 
[154] 


THE    PERUVIAN 

Grobelaar  became  truly  impressive — "he  had 
not  even  fetched  his  clothes  from  the  hut. 

"  So  you  see,  Katje,  what  comes  of  messing 
your  fingers  with  wish-bones." 

"  Pooh  !  "  sneered  Katje,  "  I'm  not  afraid  of 
the  ghost  of  the  fowl." 


[155] 


TAGALASH 

WHEN  we  came  to  the  farmhouse, 
Katje  and  I,  the  Vrouw  Grobelaar 
asked  if  we  had  been  down  by  the 
spruit.  We  had — all  the  afternoon.  There  are 
cool  and  lonely  places  in  the  long  grass  beside 
the  spruit,  where  its  midsummer  trickle  of  water 
sojourns  peacefully  in  wide  pools  of  depth  and 
quiet. 

"  You  can't  mind  that,  anyhow,"  said  Katje 
patiently. 

"Why  can't  I?"  demanded  the  Vrouw 
Grobelaar.  "  Why  can't  I  mind  that  as  well  as 
anything  else  ?  I  tell  you,  my  girl,  that  things 
are  not  quite  so  simple  as  you  take  them  to  be. 
Even  a  herd  of  swine  can  house  a  devil,  mark 
you.  A  bit  of  stick  in  the  path  can  be  a  puff- 
adder,  and  there  are  spells  tucked  away  in  the 
words  of  the  Psalms  even.  And  the  spruit! 
Why,  you  crazy  child,  a  spruit  is  just  the  place 
for  things  to  lurk  in  wait.  Yes,  slippery  things 
[156] 


TAGALASH 

that  have  no  name  in   man's   speech.     Even 
the  Kafirs  know  of  a  spirit  that  lives  in  a  pool." 

Katje  laughed.     "  Oh,  Tagalash ! "  she  said. 

Tagalash  is  the  little  god  who  abducts  girls 
who  go  down  to  fetch  water  in  the  evening,  and 
carries  them  away  to  the  dim  world  under  the 
floor  of  the  pools  to  be  his  brides.  He  lives  in 
the  water,  and  sings  in  the  reeds,  sometimes,  of 
an  evening  and  at  other  times  works  mischief 
among  the  crops  and  the  cattle  with  spells  that 
baffle  the  husbandman. 

So  Katje  laughed  as  she  mentioned  him,  and 
the  Vrouw  Grobelaar  bridled  ominously. 

"You  laugh,"  she  said  scathingly — "you 
laugh  in  the  face  of  wisdom  and  counsel  as  they 
laughed  in  Sodom  and  Gomorrah.  Yes,  Taga- 
lash, Katje!  What  have  you  to  say  against 
Tagalash?  You  think,  I  suppose,  that  he 
doesn't  exist.  I  tell  you,  my  girl,  there's  many 
a  god  of  the  heathen  who  is  a  devil  of  the 
Christians.  That's  what  Christianity  is  for — to 
make  devils  of  the  gods  of  the  heathen.  And 
besides,  this  Tagalash  is  not  like  the  others. 
He  has  been  seen." 

[157] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

She  paused.  "Who  by,  Tante?"  I  asked, 
while  Katje  affected  to  whistle  carelessly. 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  "  you  want  to  know  ?  Well, 
Tagalash  was  seen  and  felt  and  had  speech  of 
by  one  who  told  it  afterwards  with  white  lips 
and  fevered  eyes  that  compelled  belief.  A  Boer 
woman,  mind  you,  and  no  liar ;  the  young  wife 
of  an  upright  and  well-seen  Burgher,  who  had 
his  farm  an  easy  four  hours  from  here. 

"It  is  Polly  Joubert  I  mean,  who  married 
when  she  was  eighteen  one  Johannes  Olivier,  a 
youth  with  hair  like  an  Irishman — all  red.  I 
had  known  her  somewhat,  and  she  was  just  that 
kind  of  girl  in  whom  one  feels  the  thrust  of  a 
fate.  She  was  thin,  for  one  thing,  and  without 
any  of  the  comfortable  comeliness  that  makes 
young  men  doubtful  and  old  men  sure.  She 
had  a  face  that  was  always  rapt,  lips  that  parted 
of  themselves  as  if  in  wonder  at  great  things 
newly  seen,  and  big  troubled  eyes  that  spoke, 
despite  her  leanness  and  long  legs,  of  a  spring 
of  hot  blood  crouching  within  her.  Yes,  she 
seemed  doomed  to  something  far  and  tragic, 
and  outside  the  lives  of  decent  stupid  men. 
[158] 


TAGALASH 

There  was  much  bother,  I  believe,  to  persuade 
her  to  a  marriage  with  Johannes,  though  he  was 
rich  enough. 

"  Perhaps  it  was  hard  on  her,  but  then  it  must 
have  been  hard  on  him  too.  For  he  was  an- 
other kind  than  she  ;  just  a  big  youth  that  ate 
four  times  a-day  with  desperation,  and  lived  the 
rest  of  the  time  as  a  tree  lives.  There  is  no 
harm  in  such  men,  though  ;  it  is  they  that  peo- 
ple this  world  and  have  the  right  to  guide  it,  for 
they  put  most  into  it  and  hew  most  from  it ;  but 
for  those  who  are  born  with  a  streak  of  heaven 
or  hell  in  their  fabric,  they  are  heavy  compan- 
ions at  the  best.  But  these  two  married  at  last, 
and  faced  life  like  oxen  that  pull  different  ways 
in  the  same  yoke.  And  within  a  month  Johan- 
nes walked  about  with  a  face  like  one  who  tries 
to  guess  a  riddle — troubled  and  puzzled ;  and 
Polly  was  walking  elsewhere,  carving  herself  a 
new  religion  from  the  stones  of  the  bitterness 
of  life. 

"  I  have  the  rest  from  her  own  lips,  as  she 
told  it  when  she  came  back.  Yes,  she  went 
away — I  will  make  that  plain  enough.  It  was 
[159] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

after  a  quarrel  with  Johannes  over  some  little 
grossness  of  no  consequence  that  she  walked 
forth  from  the  house  and  down  towards  the 
spruit.  It  was  between  afternoon  and  evening, 
and  she  sought  a  quiet  place  to  sit  and  prey  on 
her  heart.  There  was  a  pool  that  summer,  deep 
and  very  black,  lying  between  steep  banks  on 
which  grew  bushes  and  tall  grass,  and  to  this 
she  came  and  sat  by  the  edge  of  the  water,  and 
dabbled  her  long  thin  fingers  in  its  coolness  and 
let  her  thoughts  surge  in  her. 

"  '  I  thought  of  death/  she  said,  as  she  sat  in 
her  chair  and  told  of  it — '  of  death,  and  peace, 
and  hatred  glutted,  and  dead  enemies,  and  love, 
and  sin.'  A  wild  storm  of  dreams,  was  it  not  ? 
A  grim  tempest  to  lay  waste  a  sore  heart.  And 
she  only  eighteen,  with  eyes  like  lakes  on  a 
mountainside  1  As  she  told  it,  she  cast  back 
on  her  memory — you  could  see  she  was  aching 
to  strip  her  fault  naked  and  scourge  it  before  us 
all — '  And  the  thoughts  were  like  a  sleeping- 
draught  to  my  anger/  she  went  on  pitifully. 
'  I  drowned  my  wrath  in  dreams  of  vengeance 
and  sinful  hopes  of  a  joy  to  find  in  the  future. 
[160] 


TAGALASH 

I  conjured  up  faces  of  eager,  bold  men  who 
should  court  me,  and  one  that  I  had  thought  on 
before — a  small  man,  lean  at  the  waist,  who 
moved  like  a  spark  among  burning  wood,  and 
laughed  ere  he  struck.'  Her  finger  travelled  in 
the  air,  and  he  was  plain  to  see. 

"  She  went  on  :  'I  was  looking  in  the  water 
between  my  hands,  creating  my  lover  by  the 
spell  of  desire,  and  I  could  see  his  face  in  the 
vortex  my  fingers  made  as  I  moved  them  to 
and  fro.  I  gazed  and  gazed  and  gazed,  and 
then,  suddenly,  some  fear  gripped  me,  for  the 
face  became  a  face  of  a  man,  with  the  idle  water 
swilling  across  it.  But  it  was  a  face  :  my  mind 
battled  against  the  realization  till  the  fact 
governed  it.  It  was  a  face,  brown  and  keen 
and  smiling  with  a  gleam  of  white  teeth,  and 
then  a  hand  met  my  hand  in  the  water  and 
drew  me  forward.  I  did  not  drag  back.  I 
think  I  fell  on  my  face,  but  here  I  have  no 
memory.' 

"  When  again  she  came  to  a  sense  of  things, 
she  was  lying  in  a  dim  place  where  all  that 
moved  seemed  shadows  only.  At  first  it  was 
[161]  ' 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

her  thought  that  she  was  yet  on  the  bank  by 
the  pool,  but  as  her  mind  renewed  its  hold  she 
knew  this  was  not  so.  She  breathed  an  air 
alien  to  her  living  nostrils,  and  knew  that  here 
she  had  no  part  in  a  world  of  human  creatures, 
and  the  thought  rose  in  her  that  she  was  dead, 
drowned  in  the  pool,  and  had  reached  the  next 
world.  '  Can  this  be  hell  ? '  she  wondered,  as 
she  rose  to  a  sitting  posture  and  strove  to  see 
about  her. 

"It  was  a  grassed  mound  she  sat  on,  in  a 
kind  of  plain,  and  she  heard  the  creaking  of 
bushes  about  her  where  no  wind  breathed  on 
her  cheek.  The  dimness  was  not  the  parti- 
darkness  of  a  summer  night,  but  a  shadow 
where  no  sun  had  ever  shone,  a  barren  gloom 
that  was  lugubrious  and  uneasy.  A  dozen  feet 
from  her  all  was  blurred  and  not  to  be  distin- 
guished, but  it  seemed  to  her  that  many  people 
moved  round  about  her,  and  now  and  again 
there  was  a  rustle  of  hushed  voices,  as  of  folk 
who  met  stealthily  and  spoke  with  checked 
breath.  In  the  dimness  shapes  moved,  faintly 
suggested  to  her  eyes,  and  presently,  though 

[162] 


TAGALASH 

she  had  no  thrill  of  fear,  a  loneliness  oppressed 
her  that  nearly  made  her  weep.  She  was  not 
as  one  that  has  no  comrade  in  the  world,  for 
such  a  one  is  at  least  kin  by  blood  and  flesh  to 
all  others.  She  was  alone,  as  a  living  man  in  a 
tomb  is  alone. 

"  With  a  little  fervor  of  troubled  recollection, 
like  a  child  reciting  a  psalm,  she  told  us  how 
she  rose  to  her  feet  and  gazed  about  her,  pon- 
dering which  way  to  take.  And  while  she  was 
yet  doubtful  a  hand  touched  her  elbow,  and  she 
started  to  face  a  man  that  had  come  from  be- 
hind her.  Staring  at  his  face  with  wits  clenched 
like  a  fist,  the  contours  of  the  face  in  the  water 
returned  to  her  mind,  the  sharp  brown  face  that 
had  grown  up  in  the  middle  of  the  countenance 
she  dreamed  upon,  and  she  knew  in  a  moment 
that  here  was  the  face  again  and  the  rest  of  the 
man  with  it. 

"  '  I  knew  it  at  once  when  his  teeth  shone 
through  his  smile,'  she  said.  '  He  was  not  so 
tall  as  I,  and  very  brown  in  that  sorrowful  light, 
but  not  black.  There  was  a  robe  he  wore  from 
his  neck  to  his  ankles  that  left  one  arm  bare  and 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

the  little  feet  below  its  hem,  and  his  head  was 
bare  with  straight  black  hair  upon  it.  His 
hand  was  on  my  arm,  and  he  stood  before  me 
and  looked  in  my  face  and  smiled  a  little  at 
me,  very  gently  and  timidly.' 

"  It  seems  he  found  her  scarcely  less  strange 
than  she  found  him.  In  his  bearing  was  some- 
thing of  awe  and  wonder,  while  she  stared  with 
a  mere  surprise. 

"'Are  you  a  man?'  she  asked  at  length, 
stupidly. 

"  He  smiled  yet.  '  No,'  he  answered  gently. 
'  But  oh,  you  are  beautiful ! ' 

"  She  replied  nothing  at  first,  and  he  went  on 
with  a  soft  voice  like  the  voice  of  a  tender  child. 
'I  saw  you  in  the  water  long  ago,  I  looking 
up  to  you,  you  looking  down  to  where  I  was 
hidden.  I  smiled  to  you  and  reached  my  hand, 
but  there  was  no  smile  on  your  face,  and  I  did 
not  dare  take  you  till — till  this  time.  Then 
your  hands  were  stretched  forward,  and  as  I 
clasped  them  you  sank  to  me, — my  beloved  1 
my  beloved ! ' 

"His   brown   face   glowed   upon   his  words 


TAGALASH 

with  a  fire  of  worship.  She  started  back  from 
him  with  a  quick  terror,  hands  clasped  and  lips 
parted. 

" '  Tell  me,'  she  cried,  '  tell  me,  where  am  I  ? 
What  is  this  place  ?  Am  I  dead  at  last  ? ' 

"  He  soothed  her.  '  You  are  in  my  country,' 
he  said  very  gently.  '  Now  it  is  your  country, 
as  I  am  yours.  You  are  not  dead  but  living, 
and  brimming  with  the  love  I  languish  for ;  and 
here  you  will  stay  with  me,  and  we  will  love 
one  another  very  tenderly  in  the  heart  of  my 
gloom,  and  you  will  be  my  bride. 

" '  Oh,  listen  to  me ! '  he  cried,  when  she 
would  have  answered.  '  Many  slim  and  deli- 
cate girls  have  come  to  me  through  the  mirror 
of  the  pool,  but  none  such  as  you,  with  a  warm 
soul  floating  on  your  face  and  a  bosom  aching 
for  love.  When  first  I  saw  you  I  yearned  for 
you,  I  coveted  you.  The  thought  of  you  was 
my  food  and  drink,  and  stayed  my  eyes  from 
sleep ;  I  set  my  spell  on  the  waters  that  they 
should  slumber  and  hold  your  image  unbroken, 
and  now  I  have  you ;  you  are  here  with  me. 
You  are  mine.' 

[165] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

"  He  was  glowing  with  a  kind  of  eagerness 
it  hurts  one  to  rebuff,  and  she  watched  him,  her 
fears  under  control,  with  a  growing  wonder. 

" '  Yes,'  she  said  slowly.  '  It  must  be  true, 
then — that  old  tale.  You  are  Tagalash  ! ' 

"  He  smiled.     '  I  am  Tagalash,'  he  answered. 

"  '  But,'  she  said,  '  I  am  white  1 '  For  no  one 
had  ever  heard  of  any  but  Kafir  brides  for 
Tagalash. 

"  He  shrank  a  little,  but  smiled  yet  beseech- 
ingly, as  he  would  have  her  cease  that  part  of 
the  tale. 

"'You  are  so  beautiful,'  he  urged.  'Come 
with  me  to  my  house,  will  you  not?' 

"  But  that  she  would  not  do,  and  moved  not 
from  her  place  on  the  grassed  knoll  throughout 
her  stay  in  the  shadows — something  like  a  week. 

'"I  am  the  wife  of  Johannes  Olivier,'  she 
said,  and  her  words  sounded  foolish  in  her  own 
ears.  '  I  am  a  wife,'  she  persisted,  there  in  that 
dead  land  of  the  black  gods.  '  I  want  to  go 
back,'  she  cried  like  a  strayed  child.  '  I  want 
to  go  back.  I  am  afraid.  Take  me  back  to 
the  light.' 

[166] 


TAGALASH 

"He  tried  to  comfort  her  with  gentle  words 
and  talk  of  his  passion  and  her  beauty,  but  to 
no  effect.  She  shrank  from  the  unnatural  flesh 
of  him  ;  she  panted  as  though  the  dust  of  tombs 
were  in  her  nostrils ;  and  at  last  he  stood  off, 
looking  at  her  with  a  mild  trouble,  and  then  he 
went  away,  and  she  was  sitting  once  more  alone 
amid  the  traffic  of  hushed  voices  and  moving 
shadows. 

"'There  came  no  night,'  she  told  us,  in  a 
voice  that  quavered  uncertainly,  '  always  that 
unlovely  twilight  only  ;  and  I  sat  on  the  grass 
and  wept.'  She  had  no  sensation  of  hunger  or 
sleep  in  that  world,  the  whole  of  her  stay.  She 
stayed  in  the  same  place,  dreary  and  waiting, 
with  no  active  hope  and  little  fear — only  a  long- 
ing for  the  sunlight ;  and  at  last  a  dull  pain  of 
yearning  for  the  rough  red  head  and  beefy 
texture  of  her  human  husband.  A  week,  mind 
you — a  week  she  stayed  there  thus,  save  when 
Tagalash  would  come  up  unheard  to  court  her 
again. 

"  After  that  first  time  he  was  a  more  cautious 
lover,  and  sat  at  her  feet  with  lowered  eyes 
[167] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

pleading  with  her.  One  answer  always  stilled 
him,  and  that  was  her  cry  of  '  Take  me  back ;  I 
am  afraid.' 

"  '  You  were  not  fashioned  for  a  rude  love,' 
he  said  to  her  once. 

"  '  Ah,'  she  answered  then,  '  but  there  is  that 
in  me  that  welcomes  a  heavy  hand  and  a  strong 
arm.' 

"  '  The  others  are  like  that,'  he  answered,  as 
though  speaking  to  himself.  '  But  they  have 
no  such  hungry  beauty  as  you.' 

"'My  beauty,'  she  told  him,  'is  a  chance 
vessel  for  a  mere  woman's  soul.' 

"At  last  he  became  wistful,  and  seemed 
afraid  to  ask  for  what  he  desired.  '  But  I  can 
yet  give  to  you,'  he  told  her.  '  Say  what  you 
would  have.  I  can  bring  it  you.' 

"  '  Then  give  me  back  to  my  world,'  she  cried. 
'  Do  that,  and  I  will  thank  you  on  my  knees.' 

"  He  sighed.  '  Is  that  all  you  desire  ? '  he 
said.  '  Supposing  I  granted  you  that,  is  there 
nothing  you  would  take  back  with  you?' 

"  '  No,'  she  answered. 

[168] 


TAGALASH 

" '  No  charm  ? '  he  asked  again.  '  Not  a  charm 
to  compel  love  ?  I  can  give  you  even  that.' 

" '  Take  me  back,'  she  begged,  '  and  teach 
me  how  to  win  my  husband  to  forgive  me.' 

"  He  smiled  very  sadly,  and  she  could  almost 
have  pitied  him,  so  poor  he  seemed,  bereaved 
of  his  desire. 

" '  You  are  greater  than  Tagalash,'  he  said 
slowly,  '  since  you  make  a  slave  of  him.  You 
shall  have  what  you  will.  Go  back  to  your 
world,  my  beloved,  my  love  that  shall  hence- 
forth dread  the  still  pools.' 

" '  So  I  came  back,'  she  said,  looking  round 
on  us  as  though  all  were  explained. 

"'How?'  we  asked. 

"'Why,  I  came,'  she  answered  plaintively, 
and  had  no  more  to  tell.  She  had  been  found 
sleeping  on  the  grass  near  the  spruit,  after  a 
week  of  absence  during  which  the  men  of  the 
district  had  combed  the  very  bushes  for  a  trace 
of  her. 

'"But  the  charm?'  asked  one  of  us.  'The 
charrn  to  win  forgiveness  ?  What  was  that  ? ' 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

"  She  looked  timidly  at  the  tall  Johannes  who 
stood  by  her  chair  in  silence. 

"  '  I  have  forgotten  what  it  was,'  she  answered 
with  wet  eyes. 

"  '  No,'  he  cried,  bending  to  her  lips.  '  No ! 
It  is  a  true  charm  that,  my  kleintje?  " 

"Good  old  Tagalash!"  remarked  Katje 
cheerfully. 


THE    HOME    KRAAL 

AFTER  sunset  on  a  summer's  day,  when 
evening  has  overcome  the  oppression 
of  the  still  heat  and  breezes  grow  up 
like  thoughts,  the  world  of  veld  becomes  odor- 
ous, and  every  air  has  its  burden  of  unfor- 
gettable scents. 

As  we  sat  in  the  stoop,  steeped  in  a  flood 
of  shadow,  looking  down  over  the  kraals  to 
where  the  grasses  are  ever  green  about  the 
spruit,  the  Vrouw  Grobelaar  spoke  gently. 

"I  should  remember  this,"  she  said,  "after 
a  hundred  years  of  heaven.  The  winds  of 
Mooimeisjes  would  call  me  even  then." 

Katje's  hand  moved  in  mine. 

"  It  is  home,"  said  Katje.  "  It — it  makes 
me  want  to  cry." 

The  Vrouw  Grobelaar  smiled.  "  As  for  me," 
she  answered,  "  it  makes  me  think  of  nothing 
so  much  as  that  hollow  beside  Cornel's  grave, 
where,  in  my  time,  I  shall  go  to  my  long  dream- 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

ing.  This  place  has  peace  written  large  on  its 
face ;  and  ah !  it  is  at  home  that  one  would 
like  to  lie  at  last.  Yes,  none  of  your  damp 
churchyards  for  me  1  The  home  kraal,  like  a 
Boer  vrouw ;  for  the  grave  and  the  home  are 
never  quite  two  things  to  us  Boers.  How  some 
have  striven  for  the  home  kraal,  that  feared  to 
lie  with  strangers  !  Allemachtag,  yes  !  " 

She  moved  a  little  in  her  armchair,  and  we 
waited  in  silence  for  the  tale  to  come.  Katje 
came  closer  to  me,  in  that  way  she  has,  like 
a  dear  child  or  a  little  dog. 

"  The  Vrouw  van  der  Westhuizen,  "  said  the 
old  lady,  "had  but  one  child,  a  son.  Em- 
manuel, she  called  him,  for  a  dozen  poor  rea- 
sons; and  for  him  and  in  him  she  had  her 
whole  life.  The  poor,  they  say,  are  rich  in 
poor  things,  and  this  lad  grew  to  manhood 
with  a  multitude  of  mean  little  vices  and  dirty 
ways  which  showed  like  a  sign  on  his  pale 
weak  face,  and  summed  up  the  trivial  soul 
within  for  you  at  the  first  glance.  Most  of  us 
have  cause  to  thank  God  that  He  has  not  writ- 
ten on  our  faces;  but  Emmanuel  could  have 


THE    HOME    KRAAL 

carried  no  writing  large  enough  for  his  mother 
to  read.  Because  he  was  weak  and  idle,  two  of 
her  nephews  lived  on  the  farm,  Barend  and 
Peter  van  Trump,  great  slow  true  men,  with 
hearts  like  children ;  yet  she  esteemed  Em- 
manuel as  much  above  them  as  they  in  truth, 
in  all  points  of  worth  and  virtue,  were  over 
him.  Ah,  but  a  mother  is  a  traitor  to  the 
whole  world. 

"  I  remember  this  Emmanuel  well.  A  bony 
small  man  of  the  color  of  straw,  with  eyes  that 
moved  too  quickly  and  a  cold  hand,  a  body  like 
a  wisp  of  linen-cloth — so  flimsy  and  slight — and 
some  slenderness  at  the  knee  that  made  him 
shamble  like  a  thief !  Peter  stood  with  a  great 
brown  hand  on  his  shoulder,  smiling  at  me  with 
a  frank  open  mouth  and  cheeks  creased  with 
pleasantry.  When  he  laughed,  his  body  shook 
mightily,  and  the  motion  of  his  hand  made  the 
other  stagger.  And  the  Vrouw  van  der  West- 
huizen  stood  there  looking,  with  eyes  like  pools 
of  pride  for  her  son. 

"There  was  nothing  in  the  farm  to  hold 
Emmanuel,  no  charm  in  the  veld  nor  interest  in 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

the  work.  He  was  barely  a  man  when  he  would 
ride  off  to  the  dorp  and  its  saloons,  and  in  time 
he  was  there  oftener  and  oftener,  drinking  and 
soiling  his  hands  with  all  the  strange  foulness  of 
life  the  English  bring  with  them.  We,  the 
neighbors  round  about,  marked  it  of  course ; 
but  none  thought  much  of  Emmanuel  and  his 
doings ;  and  the  thing  was  little  talked  of  till  it 
became  known  that  at  last  he  was  gone  for 
good,  and  had  betaken  himself  to  live  in  a  great 
town,  among  devilries  that  have  no  name  in  our 
clean  Taal. 

"  It  was  a  grievous  blow  for  the  Vrouw  van 
der  Westhuizen.  From  the  time  he  departed, 
she  became  old  ;  as  she  went  about  her  affairs, 
the  woe  at  her  heart  was  plain  to  see.  She  was 
a  stricken  woman,  the  world  had  been  cut  from 
under  her ;  and  about  her,  now  that  her  child 
was  gone,  she  felt  nothing  familiar,  but  lived, 
dumb  and  bewildered,  in  a  maze  of  strangers. 
Barend  and  Peter  had  no  wits  to  console  her. 
How,  indeed,  should  they  have  hoped  to  con- 
sole a  mother  thus  bereft  ?  The  days  lounged 
by  inexorably,  bringing  no  word  of  Emmanuel 
[174] 


THE    HOME    KRAAL 

with  them,  and  no  mercy.  Their  footprints 
were  the  wounds  upon  the  Vrouw  van  der 
Westhuizen's  heart;  and  in  the  end  she  sick- 
ened wearily  and  lay  listless,  due  to  death. 

"Then  only  did  the  silence  break  and  let 
through  a  word  of  news.  Some  one — I  cannot 
remember  now  who  it  was — had  been  to  the 
town  to  a  law-case  to  be  cheated  of  some  land, 
and  he  brought  back  news  of  Emmanuel — news 
that  he  was  deadly  ill  in  a  mean  place,  and  lack- 
ing money.  He  told  it  shortly  to  the  Vrouw 
van  der  Westhuizen,  and  she  sent  at  once  for 
Barend  and  Peter. 

" '  Get  to  your  horses/  she  told  them,  '  and 
bring  my  kleintje  back  to  me.  Be  quick  to 
bring  him — why  do  you  stand  gaping  like  sick 
cows  while  he  is  dying?  And  take  money. 
Take  all  the  money  that  is  in  my  box  under  the 
bed,  in  case  he  should  need  something.  Get 
the  box  out  quickly,  now  ! ' 

"They  obeyed   her.      In   the   box   was   the 

money  of  the  house,  as  the  Boers  need  to  keep 

it,  a  great  deal  of  money  in  sovereigns,  very 

heavy  to  carry.     But  she  would  not  even  suffer 

[175] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

them  to  count  it,  so  they  filled  a  bag  with  it,  and 
Barend  tied  it  to  his  belt,  and  then  they  caught 
the  horses  and  started  on  the  long  trek  to  the 
town. 

"It  is  a  journey  of  fifteen  days  by  wagon, 
yet  those  two,  by  killing  horses — they  who  used 
all  beasts  so  gently — did  it  in  three,  and  on  the 
fourth,  much  troubled  by  the  great  throng  of 
people  all  about  them,  came  to  a  narrow  street, 
smelling  of  poor  food,  and  found  the  house  in 
which  Emmanuel  lay.  A  woman  with  a  cruel 
face  and  naked  breasts  opened  to  them,  staring 
at  their  great  size  and  their  beards,  and  showed 
them  up  a  long  stair  to  a  room  with  a  bed,  from 
which  Emmanuel  looked  up  at  them. 

"  It  was  a  small  room,  tucked  close  under  the 
roof,  and  held  but  the  tumbled  frowsy  bed,  an 
uneasy  table  and  a  chair.  On  the  floor,  clothes 
and  boots  lay  heaped  with  old  newspapers,  and 
the  place  was  hot  with  stale  air.  From  the  pil- 
lows, the  face  of  Emmanuel  met  them  with 
something  of  expectancy;  and  the  two  big 
men,  fresh  from  the  wind  of  the  veld,  saw  with 
a  quick  dismay  how  his  pale  skin  stood  tight 


THE    HOME    KRAAL 

over  the  bones  of  him,  and  a  clear  pink  burned 
like  a  danger  lamp  high  up  on  each  cheek. 

'"I  thought  you  would  come/  said  the  sick 
man  in  a  weak  voice,  '  I  knew  it.  I  was  sure  I 
should  not  die  alone  in  this  hole,  while  my 
mother's  horses  were  sound.  It  is  bad  enough 
to  die  at  all,  but  no  man  deserves  to  die  away 
from  home.' 

;  "  Peter  kneeled  down  beside  the  bed  and 
would  have  passed  an  arm  under  his  shoulder. 
But  he  would  not  have  it. 

"  '  No  need  to  slobber,'  he  said,  with  a  note 
of  contempt  in  the  voice  that  rang  so  faintly. 
The  woman,  who  was  leaning  in  the  door, 
laughed  harshly,  and  a  passing  smile  flickered 
over  Emmanuel's  face. 

" '  I  couldn't  live,  could  I,  Flo  ? '  he  said  to 
her.  'But  I  can  die.  You  watch — it'll  be 
worth  seeing.  What's  that  you  have  at  your 
belt,  Barend  ?  Not  money  ? ' 

"Barend  nodded.  'Yes,  it  is  money,'  he 
said.  '  The  ou  ma  sent  it,  if  you  should  need 
it' 

"'Need    it!'     Emmanuel   laughed   harshly. 
[177] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

'  God,  but  I  do  need  it.     When  didn't  I  ?    How 
much  is  it,  man  ? ' 

" '  She  would  not  have  us  stay  to  count  it,' 
answered  Barend.  '  But  it  is  a  very  great  sum.' 
He  loosened  the  bag  from  his  belt.  '  All  gold,' 
he  added,  and  poured  the  sovereigns  in  a  heap 
on  the  tumbled  bed. 

"'God!'  said  Emmanuel  again,  striving  to 
sit  up.  The  woman  at  the  door  uttered  a  short 
oath  and  came  forward  with  parted  lips  and 
bent  over  the  gold. 

" '  Laddie,  it's  a  pile,'  she  said  hoarsely. 
'  A  jugfull ! '  Her  twitching  hands  ploughed 
through  the  heap,  and  the  coins  tinkled  among 
her  fingers.  She  was  glancing  from  one  to 
another  of  the  men,  and  drew  forth  her  hand 
clenched  on  a  full  fist  of  sovereigns.  Peter, 
still  kneeling  beside  the  bed,  made  a  noise  in 
his  throat. 

"  She  bent  her  look  on  him,  a  look  of  narrow 
warlike  eyes  and  bared  teeth,  the  first  stare  of  a 
savage  animal  disturbed  on  its  kill ;  but  the  big 
Boer  met  her  with  a  face  of  calm. 
[178] 


THE    HOME    KRAAL 

" '  The  ou  ma  sent  it  for  Emmanuel,'  he  said 
slowly,  and  rose  to  his  feet. 

"She  snarled  at  him,  but  Barend,  with  his 
teeth  clenched  on  his  beard,  moved  to  the  door 
and  stood  there  with  his  legs  apart  and  his 
great  hands  on  his  hips,  filling  up  the  way. 
Emmanuel  lay  on  his  back,  breathing  a  little 
hard,  the  color  pulsing  in  and  out  on  his  cheeks 
and  a  twisted  smile  on  his  lips.  She  turned  a 
second  to  him,  as  though  to  appeal,  but  saw 
him  as  he  lay  and  said  nothing. 

"  '  Put  that  money,  Emmanuel's  money,  back 
on  the  bed  ! '  said  Peter. 

"She  lifted  it  to  her  bosom  as  though  to 
pouch  it,  but  Peter  moved  his  arm  and  she 
flung  the  coins  suddenly  on  the  floor,  and 
laughed  gratingly  at  him. 

"'D'you  see  that,  laddie?'  she  called  to 
Emmanuel.  '  Oh,  you  sneering  devil,  gasping 
there,  ain't  you  got  a  word  to  say  to  me  ?  Say, 
can't  I  have  some  of  this  cash  ?  There's  enough 
here  to  spare  me  a  fistfulL' 

" '  Lift  me  up,  Peter,'  said  Emmanuel.  Peter 
[179] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

raised  him  till  he  sat  upright,  and  held  him 
with  a  long  arm  about  his  shoulders.  Emman- 
uel reached  forward  hands  thin  as  films  of  milk, 
and  shuffled  the  gold  to  and  fro. 

"  '  Can  you  have  some ! '  he  said,  looking  up 
at  the  woman.  'You!  Yes,  you  man- wreck- 
ing pirate,  go  down  on  your  knees  and  whine 
for  it,  beg  for  it,  pray  with  clasped  hands  for  it, 
and  you  shall  take  as  much  as  you  can  grasp. 
Do  that,  d'you  hear?  I  want  to  see  you  on 
your  knees  for  once  and  grovelling  for  a  hand- 
ful of  sovereigns.  Go  on  ;  get  down  with  you ! ' 

"  Barend  gave  a  short  laugh.  It  was  amus- 
ing of  Emmanuel,  he  thought,  to  promise  this 
on  a  condition  so  impossible.  The  woman 
spun  on  her  heel  and  faced  him  sharply  with 
bent  brows  and  a  heaving  bosom. 

"  '  Kneel,  my  beauty,'  said  Emmanuel  again 
mockingly,  but  watching  the  woman  as  she 
stared  at  Barend.  There  was  a  kind  of  wonder 
on  her  dark  cruel  face  as  she  studied  the  big 
Boer's  serene  countenance  and  masterful  poise 
of  head,  and  noted  there  the  mild  amusement 
which  is  the  scorn  of  a  good  man. 
[180] 


THE    HOME    KRAAL 

" '  Kneel  now,  and  plead  for  it,'  said  Emman- 
uel again  ;  and  of  a  sudden  a  doubt  came  over 
Barend.  There  was  a  distress  plain  to  see, 
something  remorseful  and  newly  born  surging 
in  this  harlot;  there  was  an  appeal,  fiercely 
shameful,  in  the  hard  eyes  bent  on  his. 

"  Of  a  sudden  she  wheeled  round  and  spat 
an  awful  curse  at  the  sick  man.  '  Keep  your 
damned  money ! '  she  went  on,  while  the  thick 
veins  in  her  neck  grew  to  dark  ridges.  '  D'you 
think  you  can  buy  everything?  You've  sold 
your  life  and  your  innocence  for  filth — d'you 
suppose  it's  all  to  buy  ?  You  an'  me's  in  the 
same  box,  my  boy — bad  'uns  both,  but  you 
don't  make  a  dog  of  me.' 

"  She  turned  to  Barend.  '  Let  me  pass,  you 
big  hulking '  she  hesitated,  looking  at  him. 

" '  Oh,  you  poor  innocent,'  she  cried,  with  a 
laugh,  and  ran  past  him  and  out  at  the  door. 

"  Emmanuel  called  after  her,  and  bade  her 
come  back  and  take  what  she  would,  but  her 
heels  rattled  on  the  stairway  and  she  was  gone. 

"  '  Is  that  the  strange  woman  ? '  asked  Peter, 
quoting  from  the  Proverbs. 
[.81] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

"  Emmanuel  laughed.  '  Strange  as  the  devil,' 
he  said,  with  his  voice  running  weak.  'You 
see  souls  in  this  town,  cousins — not  bodies  only, 
as  on  the  farm.  Souls  that  blush  and  bleed,  I 
tell  you.  But  go  to  the  head  of  the  stairway, 
Barend,  and  shout  as  loud  as  you  can  for  Jim. 
Just  shout  "Jim"!' 

"  Barend  went  and  roared  the  name  half  a 
dozen  times.  There  came  at  last  a  man  with  a 
dirty  coat  buttoned  to  the  neck,  grimy,  ill-shod 
and  white-eyed,  and  to  him  Emmanuel,  speak- 
ing from  behind  the  heap  of  sovereigns,  to 
which  the  man's  evil  pale  eyes  strayed  every 
moment,  gave  orders. 

" '  Tell  the  boys,'  he  said, '  that  there's  a  spree 
here  to-night.  Get  the  whole  gang,  Jim,  and 
particularly  Walters.  And  take  what  money 
you  want,  and  send  what  is  necessary  up  here. 
Steal  what  you  must,  you  hound,  but  leave  us 
short  of  nothing,  or  my  big  cousins  here  will 
cut  you  to  ribbons.  Is  that  not  so,  Barend  ? ' 

" '  Whenever  you  please,  Emmanuel,'  said 
Barend. 

"  The  man  Jim  took  the  money  and  went,  and 
[182] 


THE    HOME    KRAAL 

Emmanuel  lay  in  Peter's  arm,  picking  at  the 
gold. 

'"Shall  I  count  it  for  you?'  said  Peter  at 
last. 

"  '  God,  no ! '  said  Emmanuel.  '  Leave  it, 
man.  It's  luxury  not  to  know  how  much  it  is.' 
A  dribble  of  coins  tinkled  from  the  blanket  to 
the  floor.  '  Don't  pick  them  up,'  he  cried,  as 
Barend  stooped.  '  This  is  like  water  in  a  long 
trek  to  me.'  He  picked  up  a  handful  of  money 
and  strewed  it  abroad.  '  I  can  die,'  he  said, 
'  now  I've  money  to  throw  away,  and  to-night 
there'll  be  the  end.' 

"  It  was  an  orgy  that  evening.  There  came 
men  and  women  to  that  high  room,  where  the 
evil  man  Jim  had  already  disposed  of  bottles  of 
spirits  and  of  wine.  The  big  Boers  stood  there 
like  trees  among  poppies.  'Tis  an  evil,  leering 
flower,  the  poppy,  with  its  color  of  blood  and 
love  mounted  on  its  throat  of  death.  Barend 
and  Peter,  upright  and  still,  stood  at  the  head 
of  the  bed  watching  them  as  they  entered,  lean, 
cruel-mouthed  dogs  of  the  city,  whose  eyes 
went  to  the  gold  on  the  blanket  ere  they  greeted 
[183] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

the  man  that  had  bidden  them  thither.  Em- 
manuel, propped  in  his  pillows,  his  face  a  mask 
of  hard  mastery,  his  eyes  like  blurs  of  fire  on  a 
burned  stick,  looked  at  them  as  they  came  in, 
yet  ever  his  eyes  returned  to  the  door,  as  though 
he  sought  some  one  who  should  yet  come. 

"Women  spoke  to  him — handsome  bold 
women  with  free  lips,  and  eyes  that  commanded 
eyes  of  men,  and  these  he  barely  answered. 
But  a  crisp  step  on  the  stairs  brought  the  death- 
spot  hot  and  quick  to  his  fevered  cheeks,  and 
there  entered  a  man. 

"  A  small  man,  a  dark  man !  Barend,  talking 
afterwards,  with  a  pucker  of  wonder  between 
his  brows,  said  he  was  smooth.  He  had  a  face 
that  was  keen  and  alert  without  being  hard ; 
eyes  that  were  quiet  and  yet  judged  ;  lips  upon 
which  there  dwelt  an  armed  peace  and  also  a 
humorous  curve.  He  seemed  to  have  his  own 
world,  to  blot  from  his  consciousness  that  which 
displeased  him ;  yet  he  himself  was  for  those 
who  looked  upon  him  a  man  blocking  the 
horizon  of  life.  A  great  man,  I  judge — that  is, 
a  man  great  in  the  qualities  which  need  but  an 

['84] 


THE    HOME    KRAAL 

aim  to  move  mountains.  God  gives  few  such 
men  an  aim,  or  there  would  be  more  gods. 

"  Emmanuel  spoke  very  quietly  to  him,  but 
with  no  wheeze  of  weakness  in  his  voice. 
'  Good-evening,  Walters,'  he  said. 

"  The  newcomer  but  cast  a  glance  over  his 
shoulder.  '  Ah  ! '  he  said,  and  his  eye  lighted 
on  the  gold,  and  his  pleasant  lip  curled  further. 
'  Has  your  mother  died  ? '  he  asked.  '  I  suppose 
that's  why  you're  so  gay.  What  a  funny  little 
beast  you  are,  Van  der  Westhuizen  ! ' 

"  '  These  are  my  cousins,'  said  Emmanuel. 
'  They  ought  to  suit  you.  They  are  as  stupid  as 
honest  men,  and  as  honest  as  stupid  ones. 
This  is  Barend — that  is  Peter ! ' 

"  Walters  looked  up  at  them,  and  Peter  held 
out  a  hand  to  him.  He  took  it,  and  smiled, 
and  when  Barend  saw  the  grace  and  friendship 
of  that  smile,  he  too  gave  his  hand. 

"  '  You  have  come  to  take  Emmanuel  home? ' 
said  Walters.  '  Well,  use  him  tenderly.  If  he 
is  worth  handling  at  all  he  is  to  be  tenderly 
handled.  But  I  am  sure  you  will  be  gentle. 
You  are  too  big  to  be  rough.' 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

"  He  turned  from  them  to  a  woman  that  was 
prattling  near  by,  and  at  once  entered  her  life, 
it  seemed.  She  turned  to  him  as  one  who  wor- 
ships. 

" '  Come,  drink  1 '  Emmanuel  called  to  them. 
'  This  is  my  farewell,  you  people.  I've  come  to 
the  jump-off  place.  Reach  me  a  glass,  some- 
body, and  put  something  in  it.  What  will  you 
have,  Walters  ?  Help  yourselves,  all  of  you.' 

"With  chattering  and  laughter  the  bottles 
passed  about,  and  a  woman  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed  raised  her  glass  with  a  flourish  and  drank 
to  the  sick  man.  'You're  game,  boy,'  she 
cried  ;  '  you  finish  like  a  ferret ! ' 

"  Barend  stood  for  three  hours  watching  them, 
Peter  by  his  side.  'It  was  like  reading  in 
Chronicles  and  Kings,'  he  said,  when  he  related 
it  later.  '  There  was  a  boil  of  business  all  about, 
and  drinking  and  gabbling,  and  I  saw  faces, 
flushed  and  working,  that  I  am  sick  to  remem- 
ber. The  wine  they  drank  came  soon  to  pos- 
sess them  as  Legion  possessed  the  swine ;  in  an 
hour  they  were  lost  to  all  reason  and  decency, 
and  women  were  cursing  in  the  voices  of 
[186] 


THE    HOME    KRAAL 

men  and  men  weeping  loosely  like  women. 
They  cast  off  their  outer  garments  when  the 
room  grew  hot,  and  lounged  half-naked ;  and 
of  all  of  them,  only  two  seemed  to  live  aloof, 
like  men  among  beasts — Emmanuel  and  the 
young  man  Walters. 

" '  This  young  man  passed  in  and  out  like  an 
eel  in  water.  Nothing  clung  to  him  of  all  the 
filth  in  which  he  trod.  He  drank,  but  was  not 
less  the  master  of  himself ;  he  jested,  but  his 
laughter  was  the  mirth  of  the  pure  in  heart, 
without  harshness  in  it,  and  they  made  him 
way  and  listened  when  he  spoke ;  and  even  the 
gross,  hot-eyed  women  dulled  their  terrible 
speech  when  he  stood  before  them.  The  eyes 
of  Emmanuel,  propped  in  his  bed,  his  blankets 
wet  with  the  wine  he  spilled  from  his  glass, 
were  ever  upon  him.  I  think  the  boy  admired 
him.  Whenever  he  stirred,  sovereigns  dribbled 
to  the  floor,  but  he  looked  not  once  after  them ; 
he  was  all  for  watching  Walters,  who  barely 
turned  towards  him.  Ah,  but  he  was  very  sick, 
our  Emmanuel !  His  breath  rasped  as  he  drew 
it ;  there  was  a  fire  in  his  great  eyes  that  made 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

one  tremble — that  fire  that  makes  you  think  of 
hell-fire  and  naked  souls  writhing  in  it.  A  look 
of  savage  hunger,  but  far  off,  as  though  desiring 
things  not  of  earth  ! ' 

"  A  strange  scene,  was  it  not,  for  a  chamber 
overshadowed  by  the  wings  of  death.  Towards 
midnight,  Emmanuel  sighed,  and  slipped  down 
a  little.  Peter  moved  to  lift  him  and  started  at 
the  pinch  of  death  on  his  face.  His  exclama- 
tion drew  most  of  the  others  to  look,  but  as 
they  crowded  near  Emmanuel  opened  his  eyes. 

"  '  Walters,'  he  said  faintly. 

"  '  Well,  my  boy/  said  Walters. 

" '  What — do — you — think — of — this  ? '  Em- 
manuel asked,  his  weakness  watering  his 
speech. 

"Walters  laughed  quietly.  Til  tell  you  in 
the  morning/  he  said.  '  But  you're  a  good 
actor,  my  friend.' 

" '  You'll  see/  whispered  Emmanuel,  and 
closed  his  eyes  again. 

"Then  Barend  bade  them  all  go  forth,  and 
after  awhile,  when  he  had  taken  one  lewd  man 
in  his  hands  and  cast  him  on  the  stair,  they 
[188] 


THE    HOME    KRAAL 

went,  and  the  noise  of  their  voices,  raw  and  un- 
gentle, filtered  away.  The  two  Boers  were  left 
at  the  bedside,  among  the  bottles  and  the  gold 
and  the  strewn  clothes;  and  Emmanuel  lay 
rigid,  with  a  buzz  in  his  throat  and  a  spot  of 
blood  on  his  lips.  Peter  kneeled  and  prayed. 

"  But  in  a  couple  of  hours,  when  his  face  had 
grown  thin  and  his  nose  sharp,  and  his  hands 
cold  as  clods,  they  saw  he  was  dead,  and  spoke 
together  of  what  they  must  do.  They  knew 
nothing  of  that  treacherous  web  of  law  and  cus- 
tom which  is  the  life  of  a  city ;  they  knew  only 
that  their  feet  were  among  pitfalls,  and  that 
they  must  move  quickly  if  they  would  take 
Emmanuel  away  to  the  farm  and  the  kraal. 
So  while  Peter  went  forth  to  bring  three  horses, 
Barend  sought  among  the  garments  scattered 
about  the  room  and  dressed  the  thin  body  in 
them,  and  put  his  own  broad-brimmed  hat  on 
the  fair  head  that  should  henceforth  need  no 
shelter  from  the  sun.  When  he  had  done, 
Peter  returned,  and  came  up  the  stairs  quietly. 

"They  took  the  body  of  Emmanuel  under 
the  armpits,  one  on  each  side  of  him,  and  thus 
[189] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

carried  him  down  the  stairs.  A  man  met  them 
on  the  way,  his  face  bland  and  foolish  in  the 
glow  of  a  candle  he  carried. 

"  '  Drunk,  eh  ? '  he  said,  without  particular 
curiosity.  '  Almost  dead,  by  the  looks  of  him.' 

"'Quite  dead,'  answered  Barend,  and  they 
passed  him  and  came  down  to  the  horses, 
hitched  at  the  sidewalk. 

"  They  put  the  body  in  the  saddle,  and  rode 
on  either  side,  close  in,  and  Peter  held  it  up- 
right with  a  hand  on  its  shoulder,  as  a  man 
might  conceivably  ride  by  a  comrade.  There 
was  yet  no  light  of  day,  only  a  grayness  that 
streaked  the  night  sky,  and  a  bitterness  in  the 
air  like  a  note  of  mourning.  Slowly,  walking 
their  sleepy  horses,  they  passed  along  the 
streets,  dark  save  where  a  lamp  at  a  corner 
shed  a  yellow  and  dismal  light  about  it.  Crea- 
tures of  the  night,  slouching  here  and  there, 
looked  at  them ;  policemen,  screening  from  the 
wind  in  dark  corners,  thrust  forth  heads ;  but 
they  rode  on,  and  none  stopped  them,  and  thus 
they  came  forth  of  the  city  and  faced  the  veld 
again. 

[190] 


THE    HOME    KRAAL 

"They  raised  their  faces  to  its  freshness, 
familiar  and  friendly  as  the  voice  of  one's  kin, 
and  pushed  the  horses  to  a  trot,  while  behind 
them  the  blur  of  light  that  was  the  city  paled 
and  died  down  as  the  miles  multiplied  under 
their  hoofs.  Peter  had  the  leading  rein  of  the 
middle  horse  while  Barend  steadied  its  burden, 
and  thus  they  travelled  towards  the  east  and 
home. 

"When  the  sun  was  high,  they  no  longer 
dared  follow  the  road.  Out  of  those  they  must 
meet  and  exchange  words  with,  there  would 
surely  be  some  whom  they  could  not  deceive — 
some  who  had  seen  death  before  and  knew  the 
signs  of  it.  So  they  pulled  aside,  and  made  for 
the  high  land  of  Baviaan's  Nek,  riding  across 
the  gray  grass  and  among  the  yellow  ant-hills 
till  close  on  noon.  Then,  dipping  to  a  hollow, 
where  some  willows  cast  a  shade  upon  a  pool 
of  a  spruit,  they  dismounted  and  laid  the  dead 
man  in  the  cool,  while  they  off-saddled  the 
horses  and  rested  themselves.  There  were 
biltong  and  bread  in  their  saddle-bags,  and 
tobacco  they  did  not  lack,  and  the  need  for 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

food  drove  them  to  make  a  big  meal.  They 
were  concerned  with  this  so  deeply  that  they 
did  not  notice  that  a  Kafir,  carrying  the  bundles 
which  Kafirs  always  carry  on  the  trek,  had 
come  up  to  them. 

"  He  was  an  old  Kafir,  his  wool  gray  and  his 
skin  rough  with  age,  but  his  eyes  were  bright 
with  the  full  of  strength  and  peaceful  with 
wisdom.  He  lay  down  at  the  pool's  brink  and 
drank,  and  then  gave  them  good  day. 

"'Will  the  baas  permit  me  to  sit  in  the 
shade  of  the  trees  ? '  he  asked.  '  It  is  hot 
travelling.' 

"  He  looked  from  them  to  the  stretched  body 
of  Emmanuel  as  he  spoke. 

"'Sit  over  there,  then,'  said  Barend,  'and 
see  you  keep  quiet' 

"'Oh,  I  shall  not  wake  that  baas,  at  all 
events,'  said  the  old  Kafir,  pointing  to  the 
body. 

"  Both  the  Boers  were  startled  at  this,  but  the 
man  walked  calmly  to  the  farthest  tree,  and 
piled  his  bundles  there. 

" '  We  all  have  our  troubles,'  he  said,  as  he 


THE    HOME    KRAAL 

shook  out  his  brown  blanket.  '  Age  for  some 
of  us,  sorrow  for  others.  And  then  there  is 
death,  too.  I  am  not  dead,  at  least.' 

"'Why  do  you  talk  of  death?'  demanded 
Peter  sharply. 

"  The  old  Kafir  held  up  a  finger.  There  was 
a  kind  of  mirth  in  his  motion.  '  Hush,  or  you 
will  wake  him,'  he  replied.  '  But  I  know  all 
about  death,  except  the  taste  of  it.  I  know  how 
it  looks,  and  how  it  lies  on  the  ground,  and 
how  it  comes,  and  how  it  is  concealed.' 

"He  raised  his  hard  old  face  with  eyes  half- 
closed,  and  snuffled  at  the  air. 

"  '  And  how  it  smells,  too,'  he  said. 

"  '  You  will  learn  the  taste  of  it  in  a  minute,' 
cried  Barend,  springing  to  his  feet  with  a  white 
face.  '  You  old  scarecrow,  what  is  it  you  are 
hinting  about?  Do  you  take  us  for  murder- 
ers?' 

"  The  old  Kafir  sat  down  among  his  bundles 
and  fumbled  for  his  pipe.  There  was  no  con- 
cern on  him ;  he  had  the  still  ease  of  one  who 
comes  upon  his  own  special  task,  sees  it,  and 
knows  he  is  the  master  of  it.  While  Barend, 
[193] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

shaking  a  little,  stood  gauntly  over  him,  he 
filled  his  pipe,  lit  it,  and  blew  forth  a  cloud  of 
smoke. 

"  '  Pooh  ! '  he  said.  '  The  baas  gives  too 
much  importance  to  trifles.  A  dead  man  is  of 
less  worth  than  a  living  one.  It  is  the  baas  I 
am  interested  in — not  the  carrion.' 

"  He  spat  very  leisurely  and  took  the  pipe  to 
his  lips  again. 

"Barend,  after  a  little  hesitation,  sat  down 
again. 

" '  I  have  known  white  men,'  said  the  old 
Kafir,  leaning  back  against  his  tree,  'who 
scratched  crosses  in  the  ground,  and  traced 
them  on  their  breasts  with  a  finger,  when  they 
came  upon  death  or  the  dead.  That  is  a  strong 
charm.  And  in  the  east,  yonder,  are  others 
who  spill  wine  on  the  earth.  But  in  my  tribe 
we  neither  make  crosses  nor  waste  liquor.  We 
spit.  Where  is  the  baas  going  ? ' 

" '  Across  Baviaan's  Nek,'  said  Barend,  very 
quietly. 

"  '  Ah !  That  is  a  long  way.  To-night  the 
baas  should  camp  by  the  huts  that  are  over  the 
[194] 


THE   HOME   KRAAL 

drift  where  the  great  rocks  are.  There  are 
Kafirs  there  who  will  not  fear  this  luggage  of 
yours.  They  will  sell  food  and  shelter,  and  re- 
frain from  curiosity.  Will  that  serve  the  baas?' 

" '  Surely,'  said  Barend,  and  tossed  him  some 
tobacco. 

"  The  old  Kafir  caught  the  horses  for  them 
and  helped  them  to  lift  the  dead  man  to  the 
saddle.  By  this  time  the  body  had  become 
stiff,  and  needed  a  constant  effort  to  hold  it 
steady.  The  sun  was  hot  as  they  rode  on,  and 
the  dust  smoked  up  about  the  fetlocks  of  the 
horses.  The  stiff  feet  of  the  dead  man  were  in 
the  stirrups,  and  as  now  and  again  they  broke 
into  a  short  canter,  he  seemed  as  though  he 
would  stand  up  in  his  stirrups  to  look  ahead. 

"'So  Emmanuel  always  did  when  he  rode 
among  ant-heaps,'  said  Peter  once. 

"  Barend  only  grunted  in  reply ;  the  strain 
on  his  arm  and  wrist  was  a  heavy  one. 

"  They  camped  that  night  at  the  huts  the  old 

Kafir  had  spoken  of.     The  Kafirs  there  were  of 

a  large  build,  strong  and  silent.     They  glanced 

once  or  twice  at  the  body,  but  said  nothing. 

[195] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

Food  was  forthcoming,  and  a  big  clean  hut, 
and  here  the  two  Boers  slept  beside  the  corpse. 
It  was  only  next  morning,  when  they  had 
mounted  and  were  about  to  start,  that  one, 
with  the  head-ring  of  dignity  about  his  scalp, 
gave  a  word  of  counsel. 

"  He  stood  at  Barend's  bridle,  looking  up  to 
him  with  a  sort  of  pity. 

" '  The  day  will  be  hot,  baas/  he  said,  '  and 
that  will  be  doubly  burdensome.  So  you  may 
know  that  beyond  the  Nek,  where  the  mimosas 
grow  on  a  damp  plain,  the  ground  is  very  soft. 
There  are  huts  there,  and  shovels.' 

"Barend  nodded  his  thanks,  and  they  rode 
through  the  drift  and  up  the  Nek.  It  was,  as 
the  Kafir  had  predicted,  a  hot  day.  One  of 
those  days  which  come  in  the  throng  of  the 
summer,  when  the  sun  is  an  oppressor,  ruthless 
and  joying  in  pain,  when  the  earth  is  dead  with 
heat  and  dryness  and  the  very  air  forbears  to 
take  a  freedom !  When  they  came  down  the 
slopes  beyond  the  crest,  the  flanks  and  rumps 
of  the  horses  were  slimy  with  running  sweat, 
and  red  nostrils  spoke  of  distress.  The  dead 


THE  HOME  KRAAL 

man  sat  in  the  saddle  with  a  thin  show  of  eye- 
ball under  each  lowered  lid,  and  a  gleam  of 
teeth  above  the  sunken  lower  lip,  yet  for  all  the 
world  like  one  that  follows  a  purpose,  like  one 
guiding  himself  to  a  steadfast  end.  In  the  face 
there  was  a  growing  hue  that  does  not  visit  the 
living,  but  the  hat-brim  cast  a  shadow  over  it 
that  lent  it  an  effect  of  deep  gravity  and  solemn 
intention. 

" '  He  means  to  reach  the  farm,'  said  Barend, 
after  glancing  at  him. 

"Peter  drew  rein.  'And  yet,'  he  said,  'he 
will  never  do  it  if  we  travel  thus.  We  killed 
horses  to  make  the  city  in  three  days ;  going  at 
this  rate,  it  will  take  us  six  to  return.' 

"'Well,'  replied  Barend,  'what  else  is  there 
to  do?' 

" '  Only  one  thing,'  said  Peter,  '  your  horse 
is  the  weight-carrier.  You  must  take  Emman- 
uel over  your  saddle-bow,  and  we  must  kill 
more  horses.' 

"  '  But  a  dead  man,'  said  Barend.  '  It  is  like 
a  blasphemy.' 

"  '  We  can  do  nothing  else,'  said  Peter,  and  af- 
[197] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

ter  a  little  more  talking  they  made  the 
change." 

The  Vrouw  Grobelaar  paused  and  looked  at 
us.  Katje  was  tight  in  the  crook  of  my  arm. 

"Words  limp  while  horses  stride  free,"  she 
said,  "but  conceive  that  ride.  Taking  horses 
where  they  could  find  them,  they  rested  no 
more,  nor  drew  rein  save  to  fill  and  light  their 
pipes.  From  Baviaan's  Nek  they  travelled  at 
the  canter  across  the  mimosa  swamp,  and  so  by 
the  Rhenoster  Drift  to  Ookiep,  where  Barend's 
horse  fell  and  he  and  that  other  rolled  on  the 
veld  together.  When  Peter  had  found  and 
brought  another  horse,  they  made  one  stage  to 
Jantje's  Kraal,  and  thence,  galloping  wordless 
through  the  night,  to  Zwartvark.  Long  rides, 
you  will  say!  Aye,  rides  to  remember;  but 
think  of  the  brimming  stillness  of  the  journey, 
hushed  and  governed  by  that  silent  companion, 
while  thought  could  not  stray  nor  fancy  escape 
from  the  death  that  chased  at  the  elbow  of 
each.  When,  on  the  third  morning,  as  the  sun 
came  spouting  up  from  the  low  country,  they 
saw  afar  the  roof  that  was  their  goal,  Peter 
[198] 


THE  HOME   KRAAL 

cried  aloud  like  a  child  awaking  from  evil 
dreams. 

"  Ere  noon  their  hoofs  knocked  on  the  stones 
in  the  front  kraal,  and  they  bore  the  body  to 
the  shade  of  the  tobacco  shed. 

" '  And  now,'  said  Peter,  when  that  was  done, 
'  who  is  to  tell  the  ou  tante  ?  ' 

"  Barend  leaned  at  the  door-post  with  his  arm 
cast  up  over  his  face  and  said  nought,  but  there 
came  from  the  house  a  girl  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, who  laid  a  finger  to  her  lips. 

"  '  Hush/  she  said.  '  Make  no  noise  about 
this  house.  Where  have  you  been,  the  two  of 
you  ?  An  hour  earlier,  and  you  had  been  in 
time.  As  it  is,  the  Vrouw  van  der  Westhuizen 
died  with  no  kin  about  her.'  " 


[  199] 


THE  SACRIFICE 

"  T"  DO  not  think,"  said  the  Vrouw  Grobelaar, 

I  looking  at  me  with  a  hard  unwinking  eye, 

"  that  idle  men  should  have  pretty  wives. 

Though  Katje  will   lose  that   poppy  red-and- 

white  when  she  begins  to  grow  fat     Still " 

Katje  made  an  observation. 
"  Her  mother,"  pursued  the  Vrouw  Grobelaar, 
still  holding  me  fixed,  "spent  seventeen  years 
in  one  room,  because  she  could  not  go  through 
the  door ;  and  when  she  died  they  took  the  roof 
off  and  hoisted  her  out  like  a  bullock  from  a 
well.  But  as  I  was  saying,  it  is  not  well  that 
idle  men — those  with  leisure  for  their  littlenesses, 
like  schoolmasters  and  doctors  and  Predikants 
— should  have  pretty  wives,  or  they  tend  to 
waste  themselves.  A  man  with  real  work  and 
money  matters  and  the  governing  of  cattle  and 
land  and  Kafirs  to  fill  his  day,  for  such  a  one  it 
is  very  well.  Her  prettiness  is  an  interval,  like 
the  drink  he  takes  in  the  noonday.  But  for  an 
[200] 


THE  SACRIFICE 

idle  man  it  becomes  the  air  he  breathes.  He  is 
all-dependent  on  it,  and  it  is  a  small  and  break- 
able thing. 

"  Look  how  men  have  been  wrecked  upon  a 
morsel  of  pink-and-white,  how  strong  brains 
have  scattered  like  seed  from  a  burst  pod  for  a 
trifle  of  hunger  in  a  pair  of  eyes !  I  remember 
many  such  cases  which  would  make  you  stare 
for  the  foolishness  of  men  and  the  worthlessness 
of  some  women.  There  was  the  Heer  Mostert, 
Predikant  at  Dopfontein,  who  fell  to  blasphemy 
and  witchcraft  when  his  wife  Paula  was  sick  and 
muttered  emptily  among  her  pillows." 

The  old  lady  shifted  in  her  wide  chair  and 
took  her  eyes  from  me  at  last. 

"She  was  pretty,  if  you  like,"  she  said.  "A 
tall  girl,  with  a  small  red  mouth,  and  hair  that 
swathed  her  head  like  coils  of  bronze.  The 
Predikant,  who  had  more  fire  in  him  than  a 
minister  should  have,  and  more  fullness  of  blood 
than  is  good  for  any  man,  spent  the  half  of  his 
life  in  the  joy  of  being  near  to  her.  She  was 
full  in  the  face  and  slow  with  a  sleek  languor, 
but  on  his  coming  there  was  to  see  a  quickness 

[201] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

of  welcome  spread  itself  in  her.  She  would 
flush  warmly,  and  her  eyes  would  cry  to  him. 
Their  love  glowed  between  them ;  they  were 
children  together  in  that  mighty  bond.  So 
when  a  spring  that  came  down  with  chill  rains 
smote  Paula  with  a  fever,  and  laid  her  weakly 
on  her  bed,  the  Predikant  was  a  widower  al- 
ready, and  walked  with  a  face  white  and  hard, 
drawn  suddenly  into  new  lines  of  pain  and  fear. 
"  Women  are  strange  in  sickness.  Some  are 
infants,  greatly  needing  caresses  and  the  neigh- 
borhood of  one  tender  and  familiar.  Others 
grow  bitter,  with  an  unwonted  spite  and  temper, 
venting  their  ill-ease  on  all  about  them.  But 
after  the  first,  Paula  was  neither  of  these.  The 
sense  of  things  left  her,  and  she  lay  on  her  bed 
with  wide  eyes  that  saw  nothing  and  spoke 
brokenly  about  babies.  For  she  had  none. 
The  doctor,  a  man  of  much  brisk  kindness, 
whose  face  was  grown  to  a  cheerful  shape, 
frowned  as  he  bent  above  her  and  questioned 
her  heart  and  pulse.  Paula  was  very  ill,  and  as 
he  looked  up  he  saw  the  Predikant,  tall  and  still, 
standing  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  gazing  on  the 

[202] 


THE  SACRIFICE 

girl's  face  that  gave  no  gaze  back ;  and  there 
was  little  he  could  say. 

"  '  Speak  to  her/  he  told  him. 

"  The  Predikant  kneeled  down  beside  her,  and 
took  her  hand,  that  pinched  and  plucked  upon 
the  quilt,  into  his. 

"  '  Paula  ! '  he  said  gently.  '  Wife ! '  and  oh  1 
the  yearning  that  shivered  nakedly  in  his  voice. 

"  '  Little  hands,'  moaned  Paula  weakly — '  little 
hands  beating  on  my  breasts.  Little  weak 
hands ;  oh,  so  little  and  weak ! ' 

"The  Predikant  bowed  his  head,  and  the 
doctor  saw  his  shoulders  bunch  in  a  spasm  of 
grief. 

"'Paula!'  he  called  again.  'Paula,  dear. 
It  is  I — John.  Don't  you  know  John,  Paula? 
Won't  you  answer  me,  dear?' 

"  With  eyes  shut  tight,  he  lifted  a  face  of  pas- 
sionate prayer. 

"  '  Say  daddy ! '  said  Paula,  crooning  faintly. 
'  Say  daddy.' 

"The  doctor  passed  his  arm  across  the 
Predikant. 

" '  Come  away,'  he  said  gently.  '  This  does 
[203] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

no  good.  Come  away,  now.  There  is  plenty 
of  hope.' 

"  He  led  him  outside,  rocking  like  a  sightless 
man.  When  he  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the 
stoop,  he  stared  straight  before  him  for  a  little 
while,  fingering  a  button  on  his  coat  till  it  broke 
off.  Then  he  flung  it  from  him  and  laughed — 
laughed  a  long  quiet  laugh  that  had  no  tincture 
of  wildness. 

" '  Look  here,'  said  the  doctor,  '  unless  you 
go  and  lie  down,  you'll  not  be  fit  to  help  me 
with  Paula  when  I  need  you.  Lie  down  or 
work,  whichever  you  please.  But  one  or  the 
other,  my  man.' 

"  '  Suppose,'  said  the  Predikant  quietly — 
'  suppose  I  go  and  pray  ? ' 

"  '  That'll  do  capitally,'  answered  the  doctor. 
'  But  pray  hard,  mind.  It  might  even  do  some 
good.  There's  nothing  certain  in  these  cases.' 

" '  I  have  just  been  thinking  that,'  said  the 
Predikant,  turning  to  him  with  a  face  full  of 
doubt.  '  But  we  can  try  everything,  at  any 
rate.' 

" '  We  will,  too,'  said  the  doctor  cheerfully  ; 
[204] 


THE  SACRIFICE 

and  then  the  Predikant  passed  to  his  room  to 
pour  out  the  soul  that  was  in  him  in  prayer  for 
the  life  of  Paula. 

"  It  was  a  great  battle  the  doctor  fought  in 
the  dark  room  in  which  she  lay.  When  late 
that  night  the  Predikant,  his  face  dull  white  in 
the  ominous  gloom,  came  again  to  the  rail  at 
the  foot  of  the  bed,  his  hand  fell  on  something 
soft  that  hung  there.  It  was  Paula's  long 
bronze  hair  they  had  cut  off  for  coolness  to  her 
head. 

"  The  doctor  did  not  wait  for  the  question. 

" '  There  will  be  a  crisis  before  day,'  he  said. 

"'What  does  that  mean?' asked  the  other. 
The  doctor  explained  that  Paula  would  rise,  as 
it  were,  to  the  crest  of  a  steep  hill,  whence  she 
would  go  down  to  life  or  death  as  God  should 
please. 

"  '  But  what  can  we  do  ? '  demanded  the  Pred- 
ikant. 

"  '  Very  little,'  replied  the  doctor.  '  Beyond 
the  care  I  am  giving  her  now,  the  thing  is  out 
of  our  hands.  We  can  only  look  on  and  hope. 
There  is  always  hope.' 

[205] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

"  '  And  always  hope  betrayed,'  said  the  Pred- 
ikant.  '  But  is  she  worse  now  than  she  was 
this  afternoon  when  she  babbled  of  the  little 
hands?' 

"  '  Yes,'  answered  the  doctor. 

"  '  But  I  prayed,'  said  the  Predikant,  with  a 
faint  note  of  argument  and  question. 

"  '  Quite  right,  too,'  replied  the  doctor.  '  Go 
and  pray  again,'  he  suggested. 

"  The  Predikant  shook  his  head.  '  It  is  wast- 
ing time,'  he  whispered,  and  turned  to  tiptoe 
out.  But  at  the  door  he  turned  and  crept  back 
again. 

"  '  It  is  my  wife,  you  see,'  he  said  mildly — 
'  my  wife,  so  if  one  thing  fails  we  must  try  an- 
other. You  see  ? ' 

"  The  doctor  nodded  soothingly,  and  the  Pred- 
ikant crept  out  again. 

"  The  doctor  sat  beside  the  bed  and  watched 
the  sick  woman,  and  heard  her  weak  murmur 
of  children  born  in  the  dreams  of  fever.  It  was 
a  still  night,  cool,  and  hung  with  a  white  glory 
of  stars,  and  the  point  at  which  life  and  death 
should  meet  and  choose  drew  quickly  near. 

[206] 


THE  SACRIFICE 

There  was  this  and  that  to  do,  small  offices  that 
a  woman  should  serve ;  but  the  doctor  had 
ordered  the  women  away  and  did  them  himself. 
He  was  a  large  man,  who  continually  fell  off 
when  he  mounted  a  horse,  but  in  a  sick-room 
he  was  extraordinarily  deft,  and  trod  velvet- 
footed.  So  in  the  business  of  leading  Paula  to 
the  point  where  God  would  relieve  him  time 
went  fast,  and  presently  he  knew  the  minute 
was  at  hand. 

"He  was  sitting,  intent  and  strung,  when  he 
heard  from  the  garden  outside  the  house  a  bell 
tinkle  lightly.  He  frowned,  for  it  was  no  time 
for  noises ;  but  it  tinkled  again  and  yet  again, 
louder  and  more  insistent,  while  a  change  grew 
visibly  on  the  face  of  the  sick  woman,  and  he 
knew  that  the  issue  was  stirring  in  the  womb  of 
circumstance.  Then,  brazenly,  the  bell  rang 
out,  and  with  an  oath  on  his  breath  he  rose  and 
slipped  soundlessly  from  the  room. 

"  When  he  reached  the  garden  all  was  still, 
and  he  loosed  his  malediction  upon  the  night 
air.  But  even  as  he  turned  to  go  back  the  bell 
fluttered  near  at  hand,  and  he  dived  among  the 

[207] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

bushes  to  silence  it.  He  nearly  fell  over  one 
that  kneeled  between  two  big  shrubs  and 
wagged  a  little  ram  bell. 

"  '  What  in  hell  is  this  ? '  demanded  the  doctor 
fiercely,  seizing  the  bell. 

" '  It  is  me,'  answered  a  voice,  and  the  Predi- 
kant  rose  to  his  feet  '  Be  careful  where  you 
tread.  There  are  things  lying  about  your  feet 
you  had  better  not  touch.  Has  it  done  her  any 
good  ? ' 

" '  You  stricken  fool ! '  cried  the  doctor,  '  do 
you  know  no  better  than  to  go  rattling  your 
blasted  bells  about  the  place  to-night?  You're 
mad,  my  man — mad  and  inconvenient.' 

"'But  is  she  better?'  persisted  the  Predi- 
kant 

"  '  I'll  tell  you  in  ten  minutes,'  replied  the 
doctor.  '  But  if  you  make  any  more  noise 
you'll  kill  her,  mind  that.' 

"  The  Predikant  went  with  him  to  the  stoop, 
and  stayed  there  while  the  doctor  returned  to 
the  bedside.  At  the  end  of  an  interval  he  was 
out  again,  and  took  the  husband  by  the  arm. 

" '  It's  over,'   he  said.     '  She's  doing  finely. 

[308] 


THE  SACRIFICE 

Sleeping  like  a  child.     You  can  thank  God  now, 
Mynheer  Mostert.' 

"  The  Predikant  stared  at  him  dumbly. 

" '  Thank  God,  did  you  say  ? '  he  asked  at 
last 

"  '  And  me,'  answered  the  doctor,  smiling. 

"  '  I  do  thank  you,'  answered  the  Predikant. 
1 1  do  thank  you  from  my  heart,  doctor.  But 
for  the  rest ' 

"  And  here,  with  a  voice  as  even  as  one  who 
speaks  on  the  traffic  of  every  day,  with  a  calm 
face,  he  poured  forth  an  awful,  a  soul-wracking 
blasphemy. 

"  '  Here ! '  cried  the  doctor,  startled.  '  Draw 
the  line  somewhere,  Predikant.  That  sort  of 
thing  won't  do  at  all,  you  know.' 

" '  Now  let  me  see  my  wife,'  said  the  Predi- 
kant ;  and  after  a  while,  when  he  had  warned 
him  very  solemnly  on  the  need  for  silence,  the 
doctor  took  him  in  and  showed  him  Paula,  thin 
and  shorn,  sleeping  with  level  breath.  The 
Predikant  looked  on  her  with  parted  lips  and 
clenched  hands,  and  when  he  was  outside  again 
he  turned  to  the  doctor. 

[209] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

" '  I  value  my  soul,'  he  said  simply.  '  But  it 
is  worth  it' 

'"I  haven't  a  notion  what  you  are  gibbering 
about,'  answered  the  doctor,  who  had  a  glass  in 
his  hand.  '  But  there's  long  sleep  and  a  dream- 
killer  in  this  tumbler,  and  you've  to  drink  it.' 

"  '  I  need  nothing,'  said  the  Predikant,  but  at 
the  doctor's  urgency  he  drank  the  dose,  and 
was  soon  in  his  bed  and  sleeping. 

"Next  day,  when  he  was  let  in  to  Paula's 
bedside,  she  smiled  and  murmured  at  him,  and 
nodded  weakly  when  he  spoke.  The  doctor 
warned  him  about  noise. 

" '  We've  won  her  back,'  he  explained,  '  and 
she's  going  to  do  well.  But  she  has  had  a  hard 
time,  and  there's  no  denying  she  is  very  weak 
and  ill.  So  if  you  go  back  to  your  bell-ringing 
or  any  of  those  games  you'll  undo  everything. 
She's  to  be  kept  quiet,  do  you  hear  ? ' 

"  '  I  hear,'  answered  the  Predikant.  '  There 
shall  be  stillness.  Not  that  it  matters  for  all 
your  words,  but  there  shall  be  stillness.' 

" '  I  warn  you,'  retorted  the  doctor  seriously, 
'that  it  matters  very  much.  You're  off  your 
[210] 


THE   SACRIFICE 

axle,  my  friend,  and  I  shall  have  to  doctor  you. 
But  if  I  hear  of  any  foolishness,  Predikant  or  no 
Predikant,  I'll  have  you  locked  up  as  sure  as 
your  name's  Mostert.' 

"  He  left  him  there,  and  started  through  the 
garden  to  his  cart  that  stood  in  the  road.  On 
his  way  he  stubbed  his  foot  against  something 
that  lay  on  the  earth — a  great  metal  cup.  He 
picked  it  up. 

"  '  I  am  not  a  heathen,'  he  said,  as  he  brought 
it  to  the  Predikant,  'and  therefore  a  Com- 
munion-cup is  no  more  to  me  than  a  sardine- 
tin,  when  it  is  out  of  its  place.  I  don't  want  to 
know  what  you  were  doing  out  here  the  other 
night,  my  friend ;  but  you  had  better  put  this 
back  in  the  Kerk  before  somebody  misses  it.' 

"The  Predikant  took  it  from  him,  but  said 
nothing. 

" '  And  look  here,'  went  on  the  doctor,  '  it 
was  my  skill  and  knowledge  that  saved  your 
wife.  Nothing  else.  Good-day.' 

"As  he  drove  off,  he  saw  the  Predikant  still 
standing  on  the  stoop,  the  great  cup,  stained 
here  and  there  with  earth,  in  his  hand. 

[211] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

"From  that  hour  Paula  mended  swiftly. 
Even  the  doctor  was  surprised  at  the  manner 
in  which  health  sped  back  to  her,  and  the 
young  roses  returned  to  her  cheeks. 

" '  There's  more  than  medicine  in  this,'  he 
said  one  day.  'Do  you  know  what  it  is, 
Predikant?' 

"  '  Yes,'  said  the  Predikant 

"'You  do,  eh?  Well,  it's  clean  young 
blood,  my  friend,  and  nothing  else,'  answered 
the  doctor,  watching  him  with  a  slight  frown  of 
shrewdness. 

"The  Predikant  said  nothing.  For  days 
there  had  been  a  kind  of  gloom  on  him,  lit  by  a 
savage  satisfaction  in  the  betterment  of  his  wife. 
His  manner  was  like  a  midnight,  in  which  a 
veld-fire  glows  far  off.  He  had  grown  thinner, 
and  his  face  was  lean  and  gray,  while  in  his 
eyes  smouldered  a  spark  that  had  no  relation 
to  joy  or  triumph. 

" '  Clean  young  blood,'  repeated  the  doctor. 
'  No  miracles,  if  you  please.'  He  thought,  you 
see,  he  had  divined  the  Predikant' s  secret. 

[212] 


THE  SACRIFICE 

'  I'm  a  man  of  science,'  he  went  on,  '  and  when 
I  come  across  a  miracle  I'll  shut  up  shop.' 

"  Paula,  from  her  pillows,  heard  them  with  a 
little  wonder,  and  she  was  not  slow  to  see  the 
trouble  and  change  in  her  husband's  haunted 
face.  So  that  night,  when  he  came  to  say 
good-night  to  her,  she  drew  his  hand  down  to 
her  breast,  and  searched  for  the  seed  of  his  woe. 

" '  You  look  so  thin  and  ill,  my  dear,'  she 
said  gently.  '  You  have  worried  too  much  over 
me.  You  have  paid  too  great  a  price  for  your 
wife.' 

"  She  felt  him  tremble  between  her  arms. 

" '  A  great  one,'  he  answered,  '  but  not  too 
great' 

"  '  Not  ? '  she  smiled  restfully,  as  he  lifted  his 
face  from  her  bosom  and  looked  into  her  eyes. 

"  '  Never  too  great  a  price  for  you,'  he  said. 
'  Never  that.' 

"'My  love!'  she  answered,  and  for  awhile 
they  were  silent  together. 

"Then  she  stirred.  'Do  you  know,  John,' 
she  said,  '  that  you  and  I  have  not  prayed  to- 
[213] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

gether  since  first  this  sickness  took  me  ?  Shall 
we  thank  God  together,  now  that  He  has  willed 
to  leave  us  our  companionship  for  yet  a  space  ? ' 

"'No!'  he  said  quietly. 

" '  Dear ! '  She  was  surprised.  '  I  was  ask- 
ing you  to  thank  God  with  me.' 

"  He  nodded.  '  I  heard  you,  but  it  serves  no 
purpose.  God  forgot  us,  Paula.' 

"  His  eyes  were  like  coals  gleaming  hotly. 
'I  prayed,'  he  cried,  'and  yet  you  slipped 
farther  from  me  and  nearer  the  grave.  I 
strewed  my  soul  in  supplication,  and  there  was 
talk  of  winding-sheets.  And  then,  in  the  keen 
hour  of  decision,  when  you  tilted  in  the  bal- 
ance, I  sought  elsewhere  for  aid ;  and  while  I 
defiled  all  holiness,  ere  yet  I  had  finished  the 
business,  comes  to  me  that  doctor  and  tells  me 
all  is  well.  What  think  you  of  that,  Paula  ? ' 

"  She  had  heard  him  with  no  breaking  of  the 
little  smile  that  lay  on  her  lips — the  little  all- 
forgiving  smile  that  is  the  heritage  of  mothers, 
— and  now  that  he  was  done  she  smiled 
still. 

"'I  remember  the  old  tales,'  she  answered 


THE  SACRIFICE 

'  How  does  the  witch  call  the  devil,  John  ? 
Water  in  the  Communion-cup,  bread  and  blood 
and  earth — is  that  it?  and  two  circles — two, 
is  it  ? ' 

"  '  Three,'  he  corrected. 

"  '  Ah,  yes ;  three.'  She  laughed  soothingly. 
'  You  poor  muddled  boy,'  she  murmured.  '  Do 
you  prize  me  so  much,  John  ?  Poor  John.  You 
must  let  me  be  wise  for  both  of  us,  John.  I  am 
not  afraid  of  the  devil,  at  all  events.' 

" '  Nor  I,'  he  answered,  '  so  long  as  you  are 
well.' 

"  '  But  I  am  getting  well  now,'  she  answered. 
'And  I  do  want  you  to  pray  with  me,  dear. 
Put  your  head  down,  dear,  and  let  me  whisper 
to  you.' 

"  She  soothed  him  gently  and  sweetly,  but- 
tressing his  weakness  with  her  love.  How  can 
I  know  what  she  said  or  what  he  answered  ? 
She  wrought  upon  him  with  the  kind  arts  God 
gives  a  woman  to  pay  her  for  being  a  woman, 
and  soon  she  had  softened  something  of  the 
miserable  madness  that  possessed  him,  and  he 
kneeled  beside  the  bed,  sobbing  rendingly,  and 
[215] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

prayed.  Her  hand  lay  on  his  head,  and  after  a 
while,  when  the  violence  had  passed  by,  he 
was  taken  with  a  serene  peace. 

"  He  bade  her  good-night,  tenderly. 

"  '  Good-night,'  she  answered,  '  and,  John — 
I  would  that  I  could  give  you  half  of  what  you 
would  have  given  for  me.' 

"  As  he  went  out  at  the  door  he  saw  her  face 
smiling  at  him,  with  a  great  warmth  of  love 
and  pity  transfiguring  it. 

"  Next  morning,  when  the  doctor  came,  he 
stayed  near  an  hour  in  her  room,  and  then 
came  to  the  Predikant. 

"  'Just  tell  me,'  he  said  to  him, — '  just  tell  me 
straight  and  short,  what  you  did  to  your  wife 
last  night.' 

"The  Predikant  told  him  in  a  few  words 
what  had  passed  between  them,  while  the  doctor 
watched  him  and  curled  his  lip. 

" '  Exactly,'  he  said,  when  the  Predikant  had 
done.  'Quite  what  I  should  have  guarded 
against  in  you.  Now  you  may  go  to  your  wife 
as  quickly  as  you  like.  She  is  dying  ! ' 

"  It  was  so.  She  died  in  his  arms  in  half  an 
[216] 


THE  SACRIFICE 

hour,  with  the  little  smile  of  baffled  motherhood 
yet  on  her  lips." 

Katje  clenched  her  hands  and  looked  out  to 
the  veld  in  silence. 


THE    COWARD 

AFTER  all,"  said  the  Vrouw  Grobelaar 
weightily,  "  a  coward  is  but  one  with 
keener    eyes    than    his    fellows.     No 
young  man  fears  a  ghost  till  it  is  dark,  but  the 
coward  sees  the  stars  in  the  daytime,  like  a 
man  at  the  bottom  of  a  well,  and  ghosts  walk 
all  about  him. 

"  A  coward  should  always  be  a  married  man," 
she  added.  "  You  may  say,  Katje,  that  it  is  hard 
on  the  woman.  It  is  what  I  would  expect  of 
you.  But  when  you  have  experience  of  wife- 
hood  you  will  come  to  the  knowledge  that  it  is 
the  man's  character  which  counts,  and  it  is  the 
woman's  part  to  make  up  his  deficiencies. 
With  what  men  learn  by  practising  on  then- 
wives,  the  world  has  been  made. 

"  If  you  would  cease  to  cackle  in  that  silly 
fashion  I  would  tell  you  of  Andreas  van  Wyck, 
the  coward — a  tale  that  is  known  to  few.  Well, 
then! 

[218] 


THE  COWARD 

"  He  was  a  bushveld  Boer,  farming  cattle  on 
good  land,  not  a  day's  ride  from  the  Tiger 
River.  His  wife,  Anna,  was  of  the  de  Villiers 
stock  from  over  the  borders  of  the  Free  State,  a 
commandant's  daughter,  and  the  youngest  of 
fourteen  children.  They  were  both  people  of  a 
type  common  enough.  Andreas  was  to  all 
seeming  just  such  a  Burgher  as  a  hundred 
others  who  have  grown  rich  quietly,  never  heard 
of  outside  their  own  districts,  yet  as  worthy  as 
others  whom  every  one  nods  to  at  Nachtmaal. 
Anna,  too,  was  of  an  every-day  pattern,  a  short 
plump  woman,  with  a  rosy  solemn  face  and 
pleasant  eyes — a  sound  Boer  woman,  who  could 
carry  out  her  saddle,  catch  her  horse  and  mount 
him  without  help.  You  see,  in  her  big  family, 
the  elders  were  all  men,  and  most  had  seen 
service  against  the  Kafirs,  and  a  girl  there  won 
esteem  not  by  fallals  and  little  tripping  graces, 
but  by  usefulness  and  courage  and  good  fellow- 
ship. She  saw  Andreas  first  when  he  was  vis- 
iting his  mother's  aunt  in  her  neighborhood. 
There  was  shooting  at  a  target,  for  a  prize  of  an 
English  saddle,  and  no  one  has  ever  said  of  him 
[219] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

that  he  was  not  a  wonderful  shot.  He  carried 
off  the  prize  easily,  against  all  the  Boers  of 
those  parts,  and  Anna's  father  and  brothers 
among  them.  A  few  months  later  they  were 
married. 

"  They  drove  from  Anna's  home  to  Andreas' 
farm  on  the  bushveld  in  a  Cape  cart  with  two 
horses,  and  sat  close  under  the  hood  while  the 
veld  about  them  was  lashed  with  the  first  rains 
of  December.  It  was  no  time  for  a  journey  by 
road,  but  in  those  days  the  country  was  not 
checkered  with  railway  lines  as  it  is  now,  and 
Anna  had  nothing  to  say  against  a  trifle  of 
hardship.  For  miles  about  them  the  rolling 
country  of  the  Free  State  was  veiled  with  a 
haze  of  rain,  and  the  wind  drove  it  in  sheets 
here  and  there,  till  the  horses  staggered  against 
it,  and  the  drum  of  the  storm  on  the  hood  of 
the  cart  was  awesome  and  mournful.  Towards 
afternoon,  after  a  long,  slow  trek,  they  came 
down  the  slope  towards  Buys'  Drift,  and 
Andreas  pulled  his  horses  up  at  the  edge  of  the 
water. 

"The  rains  had  swelled  the  river  to  a  flood, 
[220] 


THE  COWARD 

and  it  ran  with  barely  a  ripple  where  ordinarily 
the  bushes  were  clear  of  the  water.  Full  a 
hundred  and  fifty  yards  it  spanned,  and  as  they 
looked,  they  saw  it  carry  past  a  dead  ox  and 
the  rags  of  uprooted  huts. 

"  '  We  can  never  cross  till  it  goes  down,'  said 
Andreas.  '  I  am  sorry  for  it,  but  there  is  no 
choice.  We  must  go  back  to  your  father's 
house.' 

"  Anna  pressed  his  arm  and  smiled. 

"  '  You  are  joking,'  she  said.  '  You  know 
well  that  I  will  not  go  back  there  to-night  for 
all  the  floods  in  ten  years.  No  girl  would  that 
valued  her  husband  and  herself.' 

"  '  But  look  at  the  drift ! '  he  urged. 

"  'It  is  a  big  head  of  water,'  she  agreed.  '  I 
was  once  before  upset  in  such  a  flood  as  this. 
You  must  head  them  up-stream  a  little,  and  then 
strike  down  again  to  the  opposite  bank.' 

"  '  Not  I,'  he  answered.  '  I  am  not  going  to 
drown  myself  for  a  trifle  of  pride,  nor  you 
either.  We  must  go  back.' 

"  She  shook  her  head.  '  Not  that ! '  she  re- 
plied. '  Give  me  the  reins  and  the  whip.'  Be- 

EMI] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

fore  he  could  resist  she  had  taken  them  from 
his  hands.  '  Put  your  feet  on  our  box,'  she  di- 
rected, '  or  the  water  will  float  it  away.  Now 
then!' 

"  She  drew  the  whip  across  the  horses'  quar- 
ters, and  in  a  minute  they  were  in  the  river, 
while  Andreas  sat  marvelling. 

"  You  understand  that  it  was  first  necessary 
to  move  up-stream  to  a  point  in  the  middle  of 
the  river.  She  steadied  the  horses  with  a  taut 
hold  on  the  reins,  for  her  young  wrists  were 
strong  as  iron,  and  spoke  to  them  cheerily  as 
the  flood  leaped  against  their  chests,  and  they 
stood  and  hesitated.  The  rain  drove  in  their 
faces  viciously :  Andreas,  his  face  sheltered  by 
the  wide  brim  of  his  hat,  had  to  rub  away  the 
water  again  and  again  in  order  to  see;  but 
Anna  knit  her  brows  and  endured  the  storm 
gallantly,  while  with  whip  and  rein  and  voice 
she  pushed  the  team  on  towards  the  place  of 
turning. 

"The  rushing  of  the  water  filled  their  ears, 
and  before  them,  between  the  high  banks  of  the 
Vaal,  they  saw  only  a  world  of  brown  water, 

[222] 


THE  COWARD 

streaked  with  white  froth,  hurling  down  upon 
them.  It  rose  above  the  foot-board  and  swilled 
to  the  level  of  the  seat.  The  horses,  with  heads 
lifted  high,  were  often,  for  an  anxious  moment 
or  two,  free  of  the  shifting  bottom  and  swim- 
ming. A  tree,  blundering  down-stream,  struck 
the  near  wheel,  and  they  were  nearly  capsized, 
the  water  rushing  in  over  their  knees.  As  they 
tilted  Andreas  gave  a  cry,  and  shifted  in  his 
place.  Anna  called  to  her  horses  and  knit  her 
brows. 

"  At  last  it  was  time  to  humor  them  around, 
and  this,  as  I  need  not  tell  you,  is  the  risky 
business  in  crossing  a  flooded  drift.  With 
somewhat  of  a  draw  on  the  near  rein,  Anna 
checked  the  team,  and  then,  prodding  with  her 
whip,  headed  the  horses  over  and  started  them. 
They  floundered  and  splashed,  and  Andreas 
half  rose  from  his  seat,  with  lips  clenched  on  a 
cry.  The  traces  tightened  under  the  water,  a 
horse  stumbled  and  vanished  for  a  moment, 
and,  as  the  cart  tilted  sickeningly,  the  man, 
ashen-faced  and  strung,  leaped  from  it  and  was 
whirled  away. 

[223] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

"  The  water  took  him  under,  drew  him  gasp- 
ing over  the  bottom,  and  spat  him  up  again  to 
swim  desperately.  His  head  was  down-stream, 
and,  as  there  was  a  sharp  bend  half  a  mile 
below,  he  had  no  extraordinary  difficulty  in 
bringing  his  carcass  to  shore.  He  lay  for  a 
minute  among  the  bushes,  and  then  ran  back  to 
see  what  had  become  of  the  cart,  the  horses, 
and  his  wife.  He  found  them  ashore,  safe  and 
waiting  for  him,  and  Anna  wringing  the  wet 
from  her  hair  as  she  stood  beside  the  horses' 
heads. 

"'You  are  not  hurt?'  she  asked,  before  he 
could  speak.  Her  face  was  grave  and  flushed, 
her  voice  very  quiet  and  orderly. 

" '  No,'  he  said. 

" '  Ah  1 '  she  said,  and  climbed  again  into  the 
cart,  and  made  room  for  him  in  the  place  of  the 
driver. 

"  That  was  how  he  discovered  himself  to  his 
wife.  In  that  one  event  of  their  wedding-day 
he  revealed  to  Anna  what  was  a  secret  from  all 
the  world — perhaps  even  from  himself.  He 
was  a  coward,  the  thing  Anna  had  never  known 
[224] 


THE  COWARD 

yet  of  any  man — never  thought  enough  upon 
to  learn  how  little  it  may  really  matter  or  how 
greatly  it  may  ruin  a  character.  When  her 
brothers,  having  drunk  too  much  at  a  waapen- 
schauw,  wished  to  make  a  quarrel  quickly,  they 
called  their  man  a  coward.  But  for  her  it  had 
been  like  saying  he  was  a  devil — a  futile  thing 
that  was  only  offensive  by  reason  of  its  inten- 
tion. And  now  she  was  married  to  a  coward, 
and  must  learn  the  ways  of  it. 

"  They  spoke  no  more  of  the  matter.  Anna 
shrank  from  a  reference  to  it.  She  could  not 
find  a  word  to  fit  the  subject  that  did  not  seem 
an  attack  on  the  man  with  whom  she  must 
spend  her  life.  They  settled  down  to  their 
business  of  living  together  very  quietly,  and  I 
think  the  commandant's  daughter  did  no  braver 
thing  than  when  she  recognized  the  void  in  her 
husband,  and  then,  holding  it  loathsome  and 
unforgivable,  passed  it  over  and  put  it  from  her 
mind  out  of  mere  loyalty  to  him. 

"The  years  went  past  at  their  usual  pace, 
and  there  occurred  nothing  to  ear-mark  any 
hour  and  make  it  memorable,  till  the  Kafirs 
[225] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

across  the  Tiger  River  rose.  I  do  not  remem- 
ber what  men  said  the  rising  was  about.  Prob- 
ably their  chief  was  wearied  with  peace  and 
drunkenness  and  wanted  change ;  but  any- 
how the  commando  that  was  called  out  to  go 
and  shoot  the  tribe  into  order  included  Andreas, 
the  respected  Burgher  and  famous  shot.  The 
feldkornet  rode  round  and  left  the  summons  at 
his  house,  and  he  read  it  to  Anna. 

"'Now  I  shall  get  some  real  shooting/  he 
said,  with  bright  eyes. 

"  She  looked  at  him  carefully,  and  noted  that 
he  lifted  down  his  rifle  with  the  gaiety  of  a  boy 
who  goes  hunting.  It  brought  a  warmth  to  her 
heart  that  she  dared  not  trust 

"  '  It  is  a  pity  you  should  go  before  the  calves 
are  weaned,'  she  said. 

"  '  Pooh  I     You  can  see  to  them,'  he  answered. 

" '  But  you  could  so  easily  buy  a  substitute. 
It  would  even  be  cheaper  to  send  a  substitute,' 
she  urged  half-heartedly. 

"  You  see  she  had  no  faith  at  all  in  his  cour- 
age. The  years  she  had  lived  with  him  had 
brought  forth  nothing  to  undo  the  impression 
[226] 


THE  COWARD 

he  had  left  in  her  mind  when  he  sprang  from 
the  cart  and  abandoned  her  in  the  middle  of 
the  Vaal  River,  and  this  emergency  had  awak- 
ened all  her  old  fear  lest  he  should  be  pro- 
claimed a  coward  before  the  men  of  his  world. 

'"I  dare  say  it  would  be  cheaper  and  better 
in  every  way,'  he  answered  with  some  irritation. 
'  But  for  all  that  I  am  going.  This  is  a  war,  the 
first  I  have  known,  and  I  am  not  going  to  miss 
the  chance.  So  you  had  better  get  my  gear 
ready!' 

"  With  that  he  commenced  to  tear  up  rags 
and  to  oil  and  clean  his  rifle. 

"  She  bade  him  adieu  next  day  and  saw  him 
canter  off  with  some  doubt.  He  had  shown  no 
hesitation  at  all  in  this  matter.  From  the  time 
of  the  coming  of  the  summons  he  had  been  all 
eagerness  and  interest.  It  might  have  led  an- 
other to  think  she  had  been  wrong,  that  the 
man  who  feared  water  feared  nothing  else ;  but 
Anna  knew  well,  from  a  hundred  small  signs, 
that  her  husband  had  no  stability  of  valor  in 
him,  that  he  was  and  would  remain — a  coward. 

"  Next  day  the  fighting  had  commenced,  and 
[227] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

Anna,  working  serenely  about  her  house,  soon 
had  news  of  it.  There  was  a  promise  of  inter- 
est in  this  little  war  from  the  start.  The  com- 
mando, under  Commandant  Jan  Wepener,  had 
made  a  quick  move  and  thrust  forward  to  the 
crown  of  the  little  hills  that  overlook  the  Tiger 
River  and  the  flat  land  beyond  it,  which  was 
the  home  of  the  tribe.  Here  they  made  their 
laager,  and  it  was  plain  that  the  fighting  would 
consist  either  of  descents  by  the  Burghers  on 
the  kraals,  or  of  attacks  by  the  Kafirs  upon  the 
hills.  Either  way,  there  must  be  some  close 
meetings  and  hardy  hewing,  a  true  and  search- 
ing test  for  good  men.  The  young  Burgher 
that  told  her  of  it,  sitting  upon  his  horse  at  the 
door  as  though  he  were  too  hurried  and  too 
warlike  to  dismount  and  enter,  rejoiced  noisily 
at  the  prospect  of  coming  to  grips. 

"  Anna  puckered  her  brows.  '  It  is  not  the 
way  to  fight,'  she  said  doubtfully.  'A  bush 
and  a  rifle  and  a  range  of  six  hundred  yards  is 
what  beat  the  Basutos.' 

" '  Pooh ! '  laughed  the  young  Burgher. 
1  You  say  that  because  your  husband  shoots  so 

[228] 


THE   COWARD 

well,  and  you  want  him  to  be  marked  for  good 
fighting.' 

"  She  frowned  a  little,  inwardly  accusing  her- 
self of  this  same  meaning.  She  would  gladly 
have  put  these  thoughts  from  her,  for  brave 
folk,  whether  men  or  women,  have  commonly 
but  one  face,  and  she  hated  to  show  friendship 
to  her  husband  and  harbor  distrust  of  him  in 
her  bosom.  When  the  young  Burgher  at  last 
rode  away,  galloping  uselessly  to  seem  what  he 
wished  to  be — a  wild  person  of  sudden  habits — 
she  sat  on  the  stoop  for  a  while  and  thought 
deeply.  And  she  sighed,  as  though  pondering 
brought  her  no  decision,  and  went  once  more 
about  her  work,  always  with  an  eye  cocked  to 
the  window  to  watch  for  any  rider  coming  back 
from  the  laager  with  news  of  affairs. 

"  But  there  was  a  shyness  on  both  sides  for  a 
week.  The  Kafirs  had  not  yet  ripened  their 
minds  to  an  attack  on  the  hills,  nor  had  the 
Burghers  quite  sloughed  their  custom  of  order- 
liness and  respect  for  human  life.  There  was  a 
little  shooting,  mostly  at  the  landscape,  by  those 
whose  trigger-fingers  itched  ;  but  at  last  a  man 
[229] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

coming  back  with  a  hole  in  his  shoulder  to  be 
doctored  and  admired  halted  at  the  door  and 
told  of  a  fight. 

"  He  sat  in  a  long  chair  and  told  about  the 
pain  in  his  shoulder,  and  opened  his  shirt  to 
show  the  wound.  Anna  leaned  against  the 
door-post  and  heard  him.  Outside  his  brown 
pony  was  rattling  the  rings  of  the  bit  and 
switching  at  flies,  and  she  perceived  the  faint 
smell  of  the  sweat-stained  saddlery  and  the 
horse-odour  she  knew  so  well.  Before  her,  the 
tall  grimy  man,  with  bandages  looped  about 
him,  his  pleasant  face  a  little  yellow  from  the  loss 
of  blood,  babbled  boastfully.  It  was  a  scene  she 
was  familiar  with,  for  of  old  on  the  Free  State 
border  the  Burghers  and  the  Basutos  were  for- 
ever jostling  one  another,  and — I  told  you  her 
father  was  a  commandant  1 

"  '  But  tell  me  about  the  battle,'  she  urged. 

"  '  Allemachtag  ! '  exclaimed  the  wounded 
man.  '  But  that  was  a  fight !  It  was  night, 
you  know,  about  an  hour  after  the  dying  of  the 
moon,  and  there  was  a  spit  of  rain  and  some 
little  wind.  The  commandant  was  very  wake- 
[230] 


THE  COWARD 

ful,  I  can  tell  you,  and  he  had  us  all  out  from 
under  the  wagons,  though  it  was  very  cold,  and 
sent  us  out  to  the  ridge  above  the  drift.  And 
there  we  lay  in  the  long  grass  among  the  bushes 
on  our  rifles,  while  the  feldkornet  crawled  to 
and  fro  behind  us  on  his  belly  and  cursed  those 
who  were  talking.  I  didn't  talk — I  know  too 
much  about  war.  But  your  man  did.  I  heard 
him,  and  the  feldkornet  swore  at  him  in  a 
whisper.' 

"'What  was  he  saying?'  Anna  asked 
quickly. 

"  '  Oh,  dreadful  things.  He  called  him  a  dirty 
takhaar  with  a  hair-hung  tongue,  and ' 

" '  No,  no  ! '  cried  Anna  impatiently.  '  What 
did  my  husband  say,  I  mean  ?  What  was  he 
talking  about  when  the  feldkornet  stopped 
him?' 

" '  Oh,  he  was  just  saying  that  it  would  be 
worth  turning  out  into  the  cold  if  only  the  Kafirs 
would  come.  And  then  he  cried  out,  "  What's 
that  moving?"  and  the  feldkornet  crawled  up 
and  cursed  him.' 

"  '  Go  on  about  the  fight,'  said  Anna,  looking 
[231] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

from  him,  that  he  might  not  see  what  spoke  in 
her  eyes. 

" '  Yes.  Well,  I  was  just  getting  nicely  to 
sleep,  when  somebody  down  on  my  left  began 
firing.  Then  I  saw,  down  the  hill,  the  flashes  of 
guns,  and  soon  I  could  hear  great  lumps  of  pot- 
leg  screaming  through  the  air.  They  are  firing 
a  lot  of  pot-leg,  those  Kafirs.  I  fired  at  a  flash 
that  came  out  pretty  regularly,  and  by  and  by 
it  ceased  to  flash.  Then,  as  I  rose  on  my  knees, 
a  great  knob  of  pot-leg  hit  me  in  the  shoulder, 
and  I  cried  out  and  fell  down.  Your  husband 
came  to  me  and  helped  me  to  go  back  to  the 
rocks,  and  soon  after  all  the  shooting  stopped. 
The  Burghers  found  three  dead  Kafirs  in  the 
morning,  so  we  won.' 

"  '  You  were  very  brave,'  said  Anna. 

"  '  Yes,  wasn't  I  ?  And  so  was  your  husband, 
I  believe,'  said  the  wounded  man.  '  I  couldn't 
see  him,  but  I've  no  doubt  he  was.  They'll  try 
to  rush  the  drift  again  to-night.' 

"'What  makes  you  think  so?'  Anna  de- 
manded, starting. 

" '  Oh,  they've  been  gathering  for  some  days,' 
[232] 


THE  COWARD 

answered  the  other.  '  It's  what  they  are  trying 
to  do.  You  see  there  are  no  farms  to  plunder 
on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  so  they  must 
cross.' 

"  '  I  see,'  said  Anna  slowly. 

"When  he  was  ready,  she  helped  the 
wounded  man  again  to  his  saddle,  and  saw  him 
away,  then  turned,  with  the  light  of  a  swift  reso- 
lution in  her  eyes,  to  the  task  of  getting  ready 
to  go  to  Andreas.  The  river  and  the  hills  were 
but  a  short  six  hours  from  her  farm,  and  on  a 
horse  she  could  have  ridden  it  in  less.  But  it 
was  no  wish  of  hers  to  bring  any  slur  upon  her 
husband,  so  she  prepared  to  go  to  him  in  a  cart, 
taking  shirts  and  shoes  and  tobacco,  like  a 
dutiful  wife  visiting  her  husband  on  commando. 
And  for  a  purpose  she  took  no  trouble  to  name 
to  herself,  she  put  in  her  pocket  a  little  pug- 
nosed  revolver  which  Andreas  had  once  bought, 
played  with  for  a  while,  and  then  forgotten. 

"  A  Kafir  came  with  her,  to  see  to  the  horses 

and  so  on,  for  she  was  to  travel  in  no  other 

manner  than   that   in   which   Burghers'  wives 

travel  every  day ;  but  once  clear  of  the  farm  she 

[233] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

took  the  reins  and  the  whip  to  herself,  and  drove 
swiftly,  pushing  the  team  anxiously  along  the 
way.  So  well  did  she  guide  her  path,  that  by 
evening  they  were  slipping  down  the  road  to- 
wards the  drift  of  the  Tiger  River,  and  when  the 
light  of  day  began  to  be  mottled  with  night, 
they  had  crossed  the  drift  and  were  passing  up 
the  right  bank.  When  at  length  the  darkness 
came,  they  were  at  the  foot  of  the  hills  which  the 
commando  held. 

"  Here  Anna  alighted,  and  left  the  '  boy '  to 
outspan  and  watch  the  cart.  In  a  basket  on  her 
arm  she  had  a  bottle  of  whiskey  and  a  bottle  of 
medicine  for  rheumatism,  that  would  make  her 
coming  seemly,  and  with  the  little  revolver  in 
her  pocket  knocking  against  her  knee  at  every 
step,  she  faced  the  dark  and  the  empty  veld,  and 
began  the  ascent  of  the  hill  alone.  She  was 
come  to  be  a  spur  to  her  husband.  This  she 
knew  clearly  enough,  yet  as  she  went  along, 
with  the  thin  wind  of  the  night  on  her  forehead, 
she  wasted  no  thoughts,  but  bent  herself  to  the 
business  of  finding  the  laager  and  coming  to 
Andreas.  About  her  were  the  sombre  hills,  that 
[234] 


THE  COWARD 

are,  in  fact,  mere  bushy  kopjes,  but  in  the  dark- 
ness, and  to  one  alone,  portentous  and  devious 
mountains.  Veld-bred  as  she  was,  the  business 
of  path-finding  was  with  her  an  instinct,  like  that 
of  throwing  up  your  hand  to  guard  your  eyes 
when  sparks  _spout  from  the  fire.  Yet  in  an 
hour  she  lost  herself  utterly. 

"  She  strove  here  and  there,  practising  all  the 
tricks  of  the  hunter  to  avoid  moving  in  a  circle, 
and  so  on.  She  wrenched  her  skirts  through 
bushes  that  seemed  to  have  hands.  She  plunged 
over  stones  that  were  noisy  and  ragged  under- 
foot ;  she  tumbled  in  ant-bear  holes  and  bruised 
herself  on  ant-hills,  And  after  a  long  time  she 
sat  down  and  listened — listened  patiently  for  the 
alarm  of  firing  to  beckon  a  course  to  her.  And 
there  she  waited,  her  basket  on  her  knee,  her 
arms  folded  across  it,  for  all  the  world  like  a 
quiet  woman  in  church,  with  no  tremors,  but 
only  a  mild  and  enduring  expectancy. 

"  It  came  at  last,  a  tempest  of  shooting  that 

seemed  all  round  her.     Below  her,  and  to  her 

left,  there  were  splashes  of  white  flame.     The 

fighter's  daughter  knew  at  once  that  these  were 

[235] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

from  Kafir  guns.  Overhead,  the  rip-rip-rip  of 
the  Burghers'  rifles  pattered  like  rain  on  a  roof, 
like  hoofs  on  a  road.  And  all  was  near  at  hand. 
Despite  her  endeavors,  she  had  come  nearly  the 
whole  way  round  the  hill,  and  was  now  barely 
outside  the  cross-fire.  She  stood  up,  shaking 
her  skirts  into  order,  and  took  in  the  position. 
It  was  a  bad  one,  but  it  pointed  the  way  to  An- 
dreas, and  with  a  pat  to  her  tumbled  clothes  she 
settled  the  bottles  safely  again  in  the  basket  and 
resumed  her  climbing. 

"  She  thrust  along  through  the  bushes,  while 
the  clatter  of  the  rifles  grew  nearer,  and  pres- 
ently there  was  a  flick — like  a  frog  diving  into 
mud — close  by  her  feet,  and  she  knew  there 
were  bullets  coming  her  way.  Flick — plop! 
It  came  again  and  again  and  again. 

"  '  Some  one  sees  me  moving  and  is  shooting 
at  me,'  said  Anna  to  herself,  and  stopped  to 
rest  where  a  rock  gave  cover.  The  bullets, 
lobbing  like  pellets  tossed  from  a  window, 
came  singing  down  towards  her,  clicking  into 
the  bushes,  while  below  she  could  see  the  prog- 
ress of  the  battle  written  in  leaping  dots  of  fire. 
[236] 


THE  COWARD 

The  Kafirs  were  spreading  among  the  boulders 
— so  much  could  be  read  from  the  growing 
breadth  of  the  line  of  their  fire,  and  Anna  was 
quick  to  grasp  the  meaning  of  this  movement. 
They  were  preparing  to  rush  the  hill,  as  of  old 
the  Basutos  had  done.  The  Kafirs  with  guns 
were  being  sent  out  to  the  flanks  of  the  line  to 
keep  up  a  fire  while  the  centre  went  forward 
with  the  assegais.  It  was  an  old  manoeuvre; 
she  had  heard  her  brothers  talk  of  it  many 
times,  and  also — she  remembered  it  now — of 
the  counter-trick  to  meet  it.  There  must  be 
bush  at  hand,  to  set  fire  to,  that  the  advance 
may  be  seen  as  soon  as  it  forms  and  withered 
with  musketry. 

"  Regardless  of  that  deft  rifleman  among  the 
Burghers  who  continued  to  drop  his  bullets 
about  her,  Anna  took  her  basket  again  on  her 
arm,  came  forth  from  her  rock,  and  resumed 
the  climb.  She  was  obliged  to  make  a  good 
deal  of  noise,  for  it  was  too  dark  and  uncom- 
fortable to  enable  her  to  choose  her  steps  well. 
Up  above,  the  Burghers  must  have  heard  her 
plainly,  though  none  but  a  keen  eye  would  pick 
[»37] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

the  blackness  of  her  shape  from  the  bosom  of 
the  night.  The  summit  and  the  foot  of  the  hill 
were  alive  with  the  spitting  of  the  guns,  and  all 
the  while  the  unknown  sharpshooter  searched 
about  her  for  her  life  with  clever  plunging  shots 
that  flicked  the  dirt  up.  One  bullet  whisked 
through  a  piece  of  her  skirt. 

" '  Now,  I  wonder  if  it  can  be  Andreas  who 
shoots  so  neatly,'  said  Anna,  half-smiling  to 
herself.  '  He  would  be  surprised  if  he  knew 
what  he  is  shooting  at.  Dear  me,  this  is  a 
very  long  and  tiresome  hill.' 

"It  was  almost  at  that  moment  that  she 
heard  it — the  beginning  of  the  rush.  There 
came  up  the  hill,  like  a  slow  and  solemn  drum- 
music,  the  droning  war-song  of  the  Kafirs  as 
they  moved  forward  in  face  of  the  fire.  It  was 
an  awful  thing  to  hear,  that  bloody  rhythm 
booming  through  the  dome  of  the  night.  It  is 
a  song  I  have  heard  in  the  daytime,  for  a  show, 
and  it  rings  like  heavy  metal.  Anna  straight- 
ened herself  and  looked  about  her ;  there  was 
nothing  else  for  it  but  that  she  must  start  a  fire, 
ere  the  battle-line  swept  up  and  on  to  the 
[*••] 


THE  COWARD 

laager.  It  would  draw  more  shooting  upon 
her;  but  that  gave  her  no  pause.  She  had 
matches  in  her  pocket,  and  fumbled  about  her 
and  found  a  little  thorn-bush  that  crackled 
while  it  tore  her  naked  hands.  Crouching  by 
it,  she  dragged  a  bunch  of  the  matches  across 
the  side  of  the  box, — they  spluttered  and 
flamed,  and  she  thrust  them  into  the  bush.  It 
took  light  slowly,  for  there  were  yet  the  dregs 
of  sap  in  it ;  but  as  it  lighted,  the  deft  rifleman 
squirted  bullet  after  bullet  all  around  her,  aim- 
ing on  the  weakling  flame  she  nursed  with  her 
bleeding  hands. 

"But  for  this  she  had  no  care  at  all.  She 
had  ceased  to  perceive  it.  Sheltering  the  place 
with  her  body,  she  drew  out  more  matches,  tore 
up  grass,  and  built  the  little  flame  to  a  blaze 
that  promised  to  hold  and  grow.  As  it  cracked 
among  the  twigs,  she  wrenched  the  bush  from 
the  ground  and  ran  forward  with  it  upheld. 

"  '  Burghers,  Burghers ! '  she  screamed.  '  Pas 
op !  The  Kafirs  are  coming  up  the  hill ! ' 

"  And  whirling  it  widely  she  flung  the  burn- 
ing bush  from  her  with  all  her  force,  and 
[239] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

watched  its  fire  spread  in  the  grass  where  it 
fell.  Then  she,  too,  fell  down,  and  lay  among 
the  rocks  and  plants,  scarcely  breathing. 

"Up  above,  the  old  commandant,  peering 
under  the  pent  of  his  hand,  saw  the  torch  waved 
and  the  figure  that  flung  it. 

" '  Allemachtig  1 '  he  cried.  '  It's  the  Vrouw 
vanWyckl' 

"The  next  instant  he  was  shouting,  'And 
here  come  the  Kafirs  1  Shoot,  Burghers,  shoot 
straight  and  hard.' 

"Where  she  lay,  near  the  fire  that  now 
spread  across  the  flank  of  the  hill  in  broad 
bands  among  the  dry  grass  and  withered 
bushes,  the  Vrouw  van  Wyck  heard  that  last 
cry  and  lifted  her  head  as  a  torrent  of  shooting 
answered  it.  The  Kafirs  and  the  Burghers 
were  at  grips,  and  it  seemed  that  all  around  her 
the  night  rustled  with  secret  men  that  slunk 
about.  There  was  great  danger  to  her  at  last, 
for  either  in  going  forward  or  going  back  she 
might  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  Kafirs,  and — 
oh,  you  can  never  tell  what  that  may  mean ! 
At  the  best  and  choicest  it  is  death,  but  at  the 
[240] 


THE  COWARD 

worst  it  is  torment  with  loathly  outrage,  the 
torment  and  the  degradation  of  Sheol.  Anna 
knew  that,  knew  it  well  and  feared  it.  That 
daunted  her,  and  as  the  thought  grew  clearer 
in  her  mind,  dread  gripped  her,  and  she  hud- 
dled among  the  stones  with  ears  alert  and  a 
heart  that  clacked  as  it  beat. 

"Noises  threatened  her,  and  to  them,  the 
casual  noises  of  the  night,  she  gave  ear  anx- 
iously, while  above  her  the  fight  raged  dire- 
fully  and  all  unheard.  At  one  time  she  truly 
saw  naked  Kafirs  go  up  the  hill, — the  light  of 
the  fire  glinted  on  the  points  of  their  assegais 
and  threw  a  dull  gleam  on  the  muscle-rippled 
skin  of  them.  Next,  stones  falling  made  her 
start,  and  ere  this  alarm  was  passed  she  heard 
the  unmistakable  clatter  of  shod  feet  among 
the  boulders,  and — plain  and  loud — an  oath  as 
some  man  stumbled.  He  was  already  to  be 
seen,  vaguely ;  then  he  was  near  at  hand,  com- 
ing upon  her. 

"'Now,  what  in  God's  name  is  this?'  she 
cried,  and  rose.  In  her  hand  was  the  little 
blunt-nosed  revolver. 

[241] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

"  The  man  ran  through  a  bush  towards  her. 
'  Anna/  he  cried,  '  Anna  ! ' 

"  It  was  Andreas,  and  he  took  hold  of  her 
body  and  pressed  her  close  to  him. 

"She  thrilled  with  a  superb  exaltation  of 
pride  and  joy,  and  put  her  arms  about  him. 

"  '  What  are  you  doing  here  ? '  he  demanded. 

"  '  I  was  coming  to  you,'  she  said,  and  with  a 
little  laugh,  as  of  a  girl,  she  showed  him  the 
basket,  with  the  bottles  yet  in  it  '  And  you  ? ' 
she  asked,  then. 

" '  Me  ? '  he  said.  '  Why,  I've  come  for  you, 
of  course.  The  Kafirs  are  at  the  ridge,  and 
God  knows  what  might  happen  to  you.  Was  it 
you  I  was  shooting  at  down  there  all  the  time  ? ' 

"'You  shot  very  well,'  she  answered,  and 
showed  him  the  hole  in  her  skirt  where  the  bul- 
let had  pierced  it.  She  heard  him  mutter  an- 
other oath. 

" '  But  we  must  be  going,'  he  said ;  '  this  is 
no  place  to  be  talking — no  place  at  all.  We 
must  get  round  to  the  laager  again.  Let  me 
have  your  arm,  and  tread  quietly,  and  we  must 
leave  the  basket.' 

[242] 


THE  COWARD 

"  '  Not  I,'  she  answered.  '  I  have  brought  it 
all  this  way,  and  I  will  not  leave  it  now.' 

"  He  answered  with  a  short  laugh,  and  they 
commenced  to  move  upward.  But  by  now  the 
fire  had  hold  of  the  thorn-trees  all  about,  and 
their  path  was  as  light  as  day.  It  was  too  dan- 
gerous to  attempt  to  climb  to  the  ridge,  and 
after  walking  for  a  while  they  were  compelled 
to  find  the  cover  of  a  rock  and  remain  still. 
Anna  sat  on  the  ground,  very  tired  and  con- 
tent, and  her  husband  peered  out  and  watched 
what  was  to  be  seen. 

"  '  We  have  beaten  them,'  he  said.  '  I  can 
see  a  lot  of  them  running  back.  Pray  God 
none  come  this  way.  I  wish  I  had  not  left  my 
rifle.' 

" '  Yes,'  said  Anna,  '  you  left  your  rifle,  and 
came  unarmed  to  help  me.' 

'"It  would  have  been  awkward  among  the 
bushes,'  he  explained,  and  was  suddenly  silent, 
looking  out  over  the  top  of  the  rock. 

"'What  is  it?'  asked  Anna.     He  gave  no 
answer,  so  she  rose  and  went  to  his  side  and 
looked  too,  with  her  arms  on  his  shoulder. 
[243] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

"  The  rip-rip  of  the  Burghers'  rifles  sounded 
yet,  but  there  was  now  another  sound.  The 
bushes  creaked  and  the  stones  rocked  with  men 
returning  down  the  hill.  Not  two  hundred 
paces  away  they  were  to  be  seen — many  scores 
of  Kafirs  dodging  down-hill,  taking  what  cover 
they  could,  pausing  and  checking  at  each  rock 
and  mound  that  gave  shelter  from  the  bullets. 

"  Anna  felt  her  husband  quiver  as  he  saw  the 
crowd  swooping  upon  him. 

" '  Take  this,'  she  said,  and  pressed  the  little 
revolver  into  his  hand.  '  It  would  be  well  not 
to  be  taken.  But  kiss  me  first.' 

"  He  looked  from  the  retreating  and  nearing 
Kafirs  to  her,  with  a  face  knotted  in  perplexity. 

"  'It  is  the  only  thing,'  she  urged,  and  drew 
his  lips  to  hers. 

"  He  looked  down  at  the  little  weapon  in  his 
palm,  and  spoke  as  with  an  effort. 

"  '  I  was  never  a  brave  man,  Anna,'  he  said, 
'  and  I  can't  do  this.  Will  you  not  do  it  ? ' 

"  She  nodded  and  took  the  pistol.  The  Kafirs 
found  nothing  to  work  their  hate  upon." 

[244] 


HER    OWN    STORY 

UT  what  are  you  going  to  live  on?" 
asked  the  Vrouw  Grobelaar.  "You 
haven't  got  a  farm." 

"  We're  going  to  live  in  a  town,"  answered 
Katje  proudly. 

I  interrupted  here,  and  tried  to  make  the  old 
lady  understand  that  even  schoolmasters  re- 
ceived some  money  for  their  work,  and  that 
there  would  be  enough  for  two,  without  frills. 

She  had  no  answer  for  the  moment,  but  sat 
and  looked  at  us  both  very  thoughtfully.  Still, 
there  was  no  hostility  in  her  aspect;  she  had 
not  her  warlike  manner,  and  seemed  engrossed 
rather  with  an  estimate  of  the  situation  than  of 
its  consequences.  I  had  looked  for  opposition 
and  disparagement  at  least,  volubly  voiced  and 
backed  with  a  bloody  example  of  a  failure  in 
marriage,  and  I  know  that  Katje  shared  my 
misgivings.  But  here  was  something  different. 
[245] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

"You — you  are  not  angry?"  asked  Katje 
after  a  while. 

The  old  lady  started.  "Angry!  No,  of 
course  not.  It  is  not  altogether  my  affair, 
Katje.  As  time  goes  on,  I  grow  nervous  of 
stirring  any  broth  but  my  own.  If  it  were  a 
matter  of  mere  wisdom,  and  knowledge  of  life, 
and  the  cool  head  of  an  elder,  I  should  not  be 
afraid  to  handle  you  to  suit  my  ideas ;  but  this 
is  a  graver  piece  of  business.  Wisdom  has 
nothing  to  do  with  it:  those  who  are  wise  in 
their  love  are  often  foolish  in  their  life.  You've 
got  your  man,  and  if  you  want  him  you'll  marry 
him  in  despite  of  the  tongues  of  men  and  of 
angels.  I  know  ;  I  did  it  myself." 

"You?"  cried  Katje. 

"Yes,  me,"  retorted  the  Vrouw  Grobelaar. 
"Why  not?  Do  you  think  that  a  person  of 
sense  has  no  feelings?  When  I  was  a  girl  I 
was  nearly  as  big  a  fool  as  some  others  I  could 
name,  and  got  more  out  of  it,  in  happiness  and 
experience,  than  ever  they  will." 

"  Tell  us  about  it,"  suggested  Katje. 

"I  am  telling  you,"  snapped  the  old  lady. 
[246] 


HER    OWN    STORY 

"Don't  interrupt.  Sit  down.  Don't  fidget; 
nor  giggle.  There. 

"  When  I  was  a  girl,"  she  began  at  last,  "my 
father's  farm  was  at  Windhoek,  and  beyond  the 
nek  to  the  south,  an  easy  two  hours  from  our 
beacons,  there  lived  one  Kornel  du  Plessis.  I 
came  to  know  him,  somehow.  I  saw  him  here 
and  there,  till  I  had  no  wish  to  see  any  but  him, 
and  we  understood  one  another  very  well.  Ah, 
Katje,  girls  are  light  things ;  but  I  truly  think 
that  in  those  days  few  Boer  maids  had  much 
mind  for  trivial  matters  in  their  loves  when  once 
the  man  was  found  right  and  sound.  Even  at 
this  length  of  time  I  have  a  thrill  in  remember- 
ing Kornel :  a  big  man,  and  heavy,  with  thick 
shoulders,  but  very  quick  on  his  feet,  and  eyes 
that  were  gray,  with  pleasant  little  puckers  at 
the  corner.  He  sat  far  back  in  his  saddle  and 
lolled  to  the  gait  of  the  horse  easily ;  such  men 
make  horse-masters,  and  masters  of  women. 
That  is  to  say,  they  are  masters  of  all. 

"  There  was  no  kissing  behind  the  kraal  and 
whispering  at  windows.  Neither  of  us  had  a 
mind  for  these  meannesses.  He  came  to  my 
[247] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

father's  house  and  took  food  with  us,  and  told 
my  father  the  tale  of  his  sheep  and  cattle,  and 
the  weight  of  the  mortgage  on  his  farm. 
Though  he  was  not  rich,  he  was  young  and 
keen,  and  my  father  knew  well  that  the  richest 
are  not  those  who  begin  life  with  riches.  There 
would  have  been  no  hindrance  to  a  marriage 
forthwith,  but  for  some  law  business  in  the  town, 
of  which  I  never  understood  the  truth.  But  it 
concerned  the  land  and  house  of  Kornel,  and 
my  father  would  not  say  the  last  word  till  that 
should  be  settled. 

"  It  dragged  on  for  a  long  while,  that  law 
matter,  and  the  conversations  between  Kernel 
and  my  father  ran  mainly  in  guesses  about  it, 
with  much  talk  that  was  very  forlorn  of  interest. 
But  what  did  it  matter  to  me  ?  I  had  the  man, 
and  knew  I  could  keep  him ;  had  I  foreseen  the 
future,  even  then  I  would  not  have  cared.  But 
for  all  that,  I  was  very  uneasy  one  hot  day 
when  Kornel  rode  over  with  a  grave  face  and 
eyes  that  looked  as  though  he  had  not  slept  the 
night  before. 

"My  father  gave  him  a  sharp  look,  and 
[248] 


HER    OWN    STORY 

pulled  strongly  at  his  pipe,  like  a  man  who 
prepares  for  ticklish  business. 

"  '  You  have  news  ? '  he  asked. 

"  Kernel  nodded,  and  looked  at  me.  It  was 
a  look  as  though  he  would  ask  me  to  spare  and 
forgive.  I  smiled  at  him,  and  came  and  stood 
at  his  side. 

"  '  From  what  you  have  told  me,'  began  my 
father,  looking  very  wise,  '  the  water  right  may 
cut  you  off  from  the  pastures.  Is  that  so  ? ' 

"  '  No,'  said  Kernel ;  '  all  that  is  wrong.' 

" '  H'm.  Indeed  1  Then  you  will  have  to 
carry  your  north  beacon  farther  to  the  east  and 
lose  the  dam.' 

"  '  Wrong  again,'  answered  Kornel  patiently. 

" '  Then  you  have  won  your  case,'  said  my 
father,  very  eager  to  name  the  truth  and  prove 
his  wisdom. 

"  '  Dear  me  ! '  said  Kornel ; '  you  have  no  idea 
at  all  of  the  matter.  You  are  quite  out  in  your 
guesses.  I  have  not  won  my  case  :  I  have  lost 
it,  and  the  land  and  the  house  and  the  stock 
along  with  it.  I  came  over  on  a  horse  that  is 
no  more  mine  than  this  chair  is.  For  all  I  know 
[249] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

my  very  trousers  may  belong  to  the  other  man. 
There  you  have  it.  What  do  you  say  to  that  ?  ' 

"  '  Then  you  have  nothing  at  all  ?  '  asked  my 
father. 

"  '  I  have  a  piece  of  waste  on  the  dorp  road, 
near  the  spruit,'  answered  Kernel.  '  There  is  a 
kind  of  hut  on  it.  That  is  all.  It  is  only  two 
morgen '  (four  acres). 

"  My  father  sat  shaking  his  head  in  silence 
for  a  long  time,  while  Kernel  clenched  and  un- 
clenched his  hands  and  stared  at  the  floor  and 
frowned.  I  put  my  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and 
he  trembled. 

" '  It  is  an  affliction,'  said  my  father  at  last, 
'  and  no  doubt  you  know  very  well  what  you 
have  done  to  deserve  it.  But  it  might  be  worse. 
You  might  have  had  a  wife,  and  then  what 
would  you  have  done  ? ' 

"  One  is  wise  to  honor  one's  parents  always, 
but  one  cannot  be  blind.  I  think  my  father 
might  sometimes  have  spoken  less  and  done 
better  for  it. 

"  '  We  have  talked  about  Christina  yonder,' 
contined  my  father,  pointing  at  me  with  the 

[250] 


HER    OWN    STORY 

stem  of  his  pipe.  '  It  is  a  good  thing  it  went  no 
further  than  talk.' 

"  '  But  it  did,'  I  said  quickly.  '  It  went  much 
further.  It  went  to  my  promise  and  Kernel's  ; 
and  if  I  am  ready  to  keep  mine  now,  I  shall  not 
look  to  see  him  fail  in  his.' 

"  Ah  !  He  never  needed  any  but  the  smallest 
spur.  Your  true  man  kindles  quickly.  At  my 
word  he  sprang  up  and  his  arm  folded  me.  I 
gasped  in  the  grip  of  it. 

" '  My  promise  holds,'  he  said,  through 
clenched  teeth. 

"My  father  had  a  way  of  behaving  like  a 
landdrost  (magistrate)  at  times,  and  now  he 
wrinkled  his  forehead  and  smiled  very 
wisely. 

"  *  When  one's  bed  is  on  the  veld,'  he  said, '  it 
is  not  the  time  to  remember  a  promise  to  a  girl. 
It  is  easier  to  find  a  bedfellow  than  a  blanket 
sometimes.  And  then,  I  am  to  be  considered, 
and  I  cannot  suffer  this  kind  of  thing.' 

"  '  I  think  you  will  have  to  manage  it,'  an- 
swered Kernel. 

" '  Do  you  ? '  said  my  father.  '  Well,  I  have 
[251] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

nothing  to  give  you.  Christina,  come  here  to 
me!' 

"  Kernel  loosed  his  arm  and  set  me  free,  but 
I  stayed  where  I  was. 

" '  Father,1  I  cried,  '  I  have  promised  Kernel.' 

"  '  Come  here  ! '  he  said  again.  Then,  when 
I  did  not  move,  disobeying  him  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life,  his  face  darkened.  'Are  you  not 
coming  ? '  he  said. 

"  '  No,'  I  answered,  and  my  man's  arm  took 
me  again,  tight — tight,  Katje. 

"  '  Well/  said  my  father,  '  you  had  better  be 
off,  the  two  of  you.  Do  not  come  here  again.' 

" '  We  can  do  that  much  to  please  you,' 
answered  Kornel,  with  his  head  very  high. 
'  Come,  Christina ! ' 

"  And  I  followed  him  from  my  father's  house. 
I  had  not  even  a  hat  for  my  head. 

"We  were  married  forthwith,  of  course — no 
later  than  the  next  day, — and  the  day  after  that 
I  rode  with  my  man  to  the  plot  beside  the  dorp 
spruit  to  see  our  home  that  had  to  be.  That 
was  a  great  day  for  me ;  and  to  be  going  in 
gentle  companionship  with  Kornel  across  the 
[252] 


HER    OWN    STORY 

staring  veld  and  along  the  empty  road  was  a 
most  wonderful  thing,  and  its  flavor  is  still  a 
relish  to  my  memory.  I  knew  that  he  feared 
what  we  were  to  see — the  littleness  and  mean 
poverty  of  it,  after  the  spaciousness  of  the  farm  ; 
but  most  of  all  it  galled  him  that  I  should  see  it 
on  this  our  first  triumphant  day.  He  was  very 
gentle  and  most  loving,  but  shadows  grew  on 
his  face,  and  there  was  a  track  of  worry  between 
his  brows  that  spurred  me.  I  knew  what  I  had 
to  do,  now  that  our  fortunes  were  knitted,  and 
I  did  it. 

"  The  plot  was  a  slope  from  the  edge  of  the 
dorp  to  the  little  spruit,  not  fenced  nor  sundered 
in  any  way  from  the  squalid  brick  which  houses 
the  lower  end  of  Dopfontein.  Full  in  face  of  it 
was  the  location  of  the  Kafirs  ;  around  it  and 
close  at  hand  were  the  gross  and  dirty  huts  of 
the  off-colors  (half-castes).  The  house,  which 
was  in  the  middle  of  the  plot,  was  a  bulging 
hovel  of  green  brick,  no  more  stately  or  respect- 
able than  any  of  the  huts  round  about.  As  our 
horses  picked  their  way  through  the  muck 
underfoot,  and  we  rode  down  to  it,  the  off-colors 
[253] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

swarmed  out  of  their  burrows  and  grinned  and 
pointed  at  us. 

"  Kernel  helped  me  from  my  saddle,  and  we 
went  together  to  see  the  inside  of  the  house. 
It  was  very  foul  and  broken,  with  the  plain 
traces  of  Kafirs  in  each  of  its  two  rooms,  and  a 
horrid  litter  everywhere.  As  I  looked  round  I 
saw  Kernel  straighten  himself  quickly,  and  my 
eyes  went  to  his. 

"  4  This  is  our  home,'  he  said  bluntly,  with  a 
twitching  of  the  cheek. 

"  I  nodded. 

" '  Perhaps,'  he  said  in  the  same  hard  tone,  as 
if  he  were  awaiting  an  onslaught  of  reproach, — 
'  perhaps  I  was  wrong  to  bring  you  to  this,  but  it 
is  too  late  to  tell  me  so  now.  It  is  not  much ' 

"I  broke  in  and  laughed.  'You  will  not 
know  it  when  I  have  set  it  to  rights,'  I  answered. 
'  It  shall  be  a  home  indeed  by  the  time  I  am 
through  with  it.' 

"His  cheek  twitched  yet,  as  though  some 
string  under  the  flesh  were  quivering  with  a 
strain. 

" '  It's  you  and  me  against  all  the  evil  luck 


HER    OWN    STORY 

in  the  world,'  he  cried,  but  his  face  was  sof- 
tening. 

"  I  cowered  within  the  arm  he  held  out  to  me, 
and  told  him  I  was  all  impatience  to  begin  the 
fight.  And  he  cried  on  my  shoulder,  and  I 
held  him  to  me  and  soothed  him  from  a  spring 
of  motherhood  that  broke  loose  in  my  heart. 

"  Within  a  week  we  were  living  in  the  place, 
and,  Katje,  I  hope  you  will  feel  yet  for  some 
roof  what  I  felt  for  that,  with  all  its  poorness. 
It  was  the  first  home  of  my  wifehood :  I  loved 
it.  I  worked  over  it,  as  later  I  worked  over  the 
children  God  bestowed  on  me,  purging  it,  re- 
making it,  spending  myself  on  it,  and  gilding  it 
with  the  joy  of  the  work.  From  the  beams  of 
the  roof  to  the  step  of  the  door  I  cleansed  it 
with  my  hands,  marking  it  by  its  spotlessness 
for  the  habitation  of  white  folk  among  the  yel- 
low people  all  around.  Kernel  did  little  to  aid 
me  in  that — for  the  most  part  he  was  seeking 
work  in  the  town ;  and  even  when  he  was  at 
home  I  drove  him  sharply  from  the  labor  that 
was  mine,  and  mine  alone.  The  yellow  people 
were  very  curious  about  it  all,  and  would 
[255] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

stand  and  watch  me  through  the  door  till  Kor- 
nel  sjamboked  them  away;  and  even  then 
some  of  their  fat  talkative  women  would  come 
round  with  offers  of  help  and  friendship.  But 
though  we  were  fallen  to  poverty,  we  had  not 
come  so  low  as  that ;  and  few  came  to  me  a 
second  time,  and  none  a  third. 

"  Still,  though  Kernel  humbled  himself  and 
asked  very  little  money,  there  was  no  work  to 
be  had  in  the  dorp.  No  storekeeper  had  a  use 
for  him,  and  the  transport  agents  had  too  many 
riders  already.  Day  after  day  went  by,  and 
each  day  he  came  back  more  grim,  with  a  duller 
light  in  those  kind  eyes  of  his  and  a  slower 
twinkle. 

" '  You  must  trust  in  yourself,'  I  told  him,  as 
he  sat  by  the  table  and  would  have  it  that  he 
was  not  hungry. 

"'I  trust  in  you,'  he  answered,  with  a  pitia- 
ble attempt  at  his  old  sparkle.  'You  have 
proved  yourself ;  I  have  not — yet,  and  I  could 
do  the  work  of  three  Kafirs,  too.' 

"  The  next  day  he  came  home  at  noon,  with 
a  swing  in  his  gait  and  his  fingers  working. 
[256] 


HER    OWN    STORY 

"  '  I've  got  work,'  he  said,  '  at  last.' 

"  I  stopped  sewing  and  looked  at  him.  '  Is 
it  a  white  man's  work  ? '  I  asked. 

"  '  It  is  work,'  he  retorted. 

"  '  Very  well,'  I  said  ;  '  but  remember,  we  sink 
or  soar  together,  and  in  neither  case  will  I 
blame  you.  If  you  get  white  man's  work,  you 
shall  have  a  white  man's  wife ;  but  if  you  are 
going  to  do  the  work  of  Kafirs ' 

"  '  Yes,'  he  said  ;  '  and  what  then  ? ' 

"  '  In  that  case,'  I  answered,  '  I  shall  do  wash- 
ing to  eke  it  out  and  be  a  level  mate  for 
you.' 

"'By  God,  you  won't!'  he  cried,  and  his 
hand  came  down  hard  on  the  table.  There  was 
no  mistaking  his  face :  the  command  and  the 
earnestness  of  it  lighted  up  his  eyes.  I  stared 
at  him  in  a  good  deal  of  surprise,  for  though 
I  had  known  it  was  there,  this  was  the  first  I 
had  seen  of  the  steel  strain  in  my  man. 

"  '  Call  it  Kafir  work,  or  what  you  please,'  he 
went  on,  with  a  briskness  of  speech  that  made 
answer  impossible.  'You  will  keep  this  house 
and  concern  yourself  with  that  only.  The  gain- 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

ing  of  money  is  my  affair.  Leave  it  to  me, 
therefore/ 

"  I  cast  down  my  eyes,  knowing  I  must  obey, 
but  a  little  while  after  I  asked  him  again  what 
the  work  was  to  be. 

"  '  Making  bricks,'  he  answered.  '  Here  we 
have  the  spruit  at  our  door  and  mud  for  the 
picking  up.  It  needs  only  a  box-mould  or  two, 
and  it  will  be  funny  if  I  can't  turn  out  as  many 
good  bricks  in  a  day  as  three  lazy  Kafirs.  Old 
Pagan,  the  contractor,  has  said  he  will  buy 
them,  so  now  it  only  remains  to  get  to 
work.' 

"As  he  said  this,  I  noticed  the  uneasiness 
that  kept  him  from  meeting  my  eye,  for  in 
truth  it  was  a  sorry  employ  to  put  his  strength 
to, — a  dirty  toil,  all  the  dirtier  for  the  fact  that 
only  Kafirs  handled  it  in  Dopfontein,  and  the 
pay  was  poor.  From  our  door  one  could 
always  see  the  brick-making  going  on  along 
the  spruit,  with  the  mud-streaked  niggers  stand- 
ing knee-deep  in  the  water,  packing  the  wet 
dirt  into  the  boxes,  and  spilling  them  out  to  be 
baked  in  the  sun  or  fired,  as  the  case  might  be. 
[258] 


HER    OWN    STORY 

There  was  too  much  grime  and  discomfort  to  it 
to  be  a  respectable  trade. 

"  But  Kernel  went  to  work  at  once,  carrying 
down  box-moulds  from  the  contractor's  yard, 
and  stacking  them  in  the  stiff  gray  mud  at  the 
edge  of  the  spruit.  I  went  with  him  to  see  him 
start.  He  waded  down  over  his  boots,  into  the 
slow  water,  and  plunged  his  arms  elbow-deep 
into  the  mud. 

" '  Here's  to  an  honest  living,'  he  said,  and 
lifted  a  great  lump  of  slime  into  the  first  box 
and  kneaded  it  close.  Then,  as  he  set  it  aside 
and  reached  for  the  next,  he  looked  up  to  me 
with  a  smile  that  was  all  awry.  My  heart  bled 
for  him. 

" '  But  there's  no  time  to  be  polite,'  he  said, 
as  the  mud  squelched  into  the  second  box. 
'  Here's  the  time  to  prove  how  a  white  man  can 
work  when  he  goes  about  it.  So  run  back  to 
the  house,  my  kleintje,  and  leave  me  to  make 
my  fortune.' 

"And  forthwith  he  braced  himself  and  went 
at  that  sorry  work  with  all  his  fine  strength.  I 
had  not  the  heart  to  stay  by  him ;  I  knew  that 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

my  eyes  upon  him  were  like  offering  him  an 
insult,  and  yet  I  never  looked  at  him  save  in 
love.  But  once  or  twice  I  glanced  from  the 
doorway,  and  saw  him  bowed  still  over  that 
ruthless  task,  slaving  doggedly,  as  good  men 
do  with  good  work. 

"  When  the  evening  meal  was  due  he  came 
in,  drenched  from  head  to  foot,  and  patched 
and  lathered  with  the  pale  sticky  mud ;  but 
though  he  was  so  tired  that  he  drooped  like  a 
sick  man  where  he  stood,  his  face  was  bright 
again  and  his  eyes  were  once  more  a-twinkle 
with  hope  and  confidence. 

"  As  he  changed  his  clothes  and  washed  him- 
self, he  talked  cheerily  to  me  through  the  wall, 
with  a  spirit  like  a  boy's. 

"'I've  begun,  at  any  rate,'  he  called  out, 
'  and  that's  a  great  thing.  If  I  go  as  far  for- 
ward as  I've  gone  back,  I  shall  be  satisfied. 
Where  did  you  say  the  comb  was  ? ' 

"  And  all  through  supper  he  chattered  in  the 
same  vein,  rejoicing  in  the  muscles  that  ached 
with  work  and  in  his  capacity  to  do  more  and 
bear  more  than  the  Kafirs  who  were  his  rivals. 

[260] 


HER    OWN    STORY 

For  me,  I  was  pleased  enough  and  thankful  to 
hear  the  heart  of  him  thus  vocal,  and  to  mark 
the  man  I  knew  of  old  and  chose  to  be  my 
mate  come  to  light  in  this  laborer,  new  from  his 
toil. 

"  We  did  not  sit  late  that  night,  for,  with  all 
his  elation  and  reawakened  spirits,  Kernel  was 
weary  to  the  honest  bone  of  him,  and  swayed 
with  sleep  as  he  stood  on  his  feet.  He  rolled 
into  my  clean,  cool  sheets  with  a  grunt  of 
utter  satisfaction.  '  This  is  comfort  indeed,'  he 
said  drowsily,  as  I  leaned  over  him,  and  he  was 
asleep  before  I  had  answered. 

"  At  daylight  he  rose  and  went  forth  to  the 
spruit  again,  and  there  all  day  he  labored  ear- 
nestly. Each  time  that  I  looked  towards  him  I 
saw  his  back  bent  and  his  arms  plunging  in  the 
mud,  while  the  rows  of  wet  bricks  grew  longer 
and  multiplied.  I  heard  him  whistling  at  it, — 
some  English  melody  he  had  gathered  long 
before  at  a  waapenschauw, — with  a  light  heart, 
the  while  he  was  up  to  his  knees  in  the  dirty 
water,  with  the  mud  plastered  all  over  him. 

"By  and  by  I  went  down  to  the  bank  and 
[261] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

asked  him  how  he  did.  He  straightened  him- 
self, grimacing  humorously  at  the  stiffness  of 
his  back,  and  answered  me  cheerily. 

"  '  To-morrow  old  Pagan  will  come  down  and 
pay  for  what  I  have  done,'  he  said.  '  I  think 
he  will  be  surprised  at  the  amount.  His  Kafirs 
have  no  such  appetite  for  it  as  I.'  And  he 
laughed. 

"  It  was  a  dreadful  business  he  had  taken  in 
hand,  and  work  hard  beyond  believing.  The 
boxes  stood  in  a  pile  above  the  stream,  and 
each  had  to  be  reached  down  as  one  was  filled, 
and  as  soon  as  two  were  full  Kernel  must  climb 
the  bank  to  set  them  aside.  When  all  were 
full,  they  had  to  be  turned  out  on  the  level 
ground,  and  all  this,  as  you  can  see,  meant  that 
he  must  scramble  up  and  down  in  the  heavy 
mud,  taxing  every  spring  in  his  poor  body. 
Yet  he  toiled  ceaselessly,  attacking  the  job  with 
a  kind  of  light-hearted  desperation  that  made 
nothing  of  its  hardships,  bringing  to  it  a  tough 
and  unconquerable  joy  in  the  mere  effort, 
which  drove  him  ever  like  a  spur. 

"As  I  watched  him  delving,  I  thought  that 
[262] 


HER    OWN    STORY 

here  a  woman  could  render  some  measure  of 
help,  and  as  he  turned  from  talking  to  me  I 
began  to  empty  out  the  boxes  that  were  ready 
and  stack  them  again  on  the  pile.  I  had  not 
yet  turned  out  ten  bricks  when  he  saw  me,  and 
paused  in  his  melancholy  work. 

"  '  Stop  that ! '  he  cried,  and  scrambled  out  of 
the  spruit  to  where  I  stood.  '  I  suppose,'  he 
went  on,  '  you  would  like  your  father  to  know 
that  I  had  suffered  you  to  work  for  me  like  a 
Kafir.' 

" '  Kernel ! '  I  cried  in  horror. 

"  But  he  was  white  on  the  cheek-bones  and 
breathing  hard,  and  I  could  not  soften  him. 

"  '  Rich  man's  daughter  or  poor  man's  wife,' 
he  said,  '  you  are  white,  and  must  keep  your 
station.  It  is  my  business  to  sell  myself,  not 
yours.  Get  you  back  to  the  house  I  have  given 
you,  and  stay  there.' 

"  And  with  that  he  picked  up  the  soft  bricks 
I  had  turned  for  him,  and  threw  them  one  by 
one  into  the  spruit. 

"  '  Poverty  and  meanness  and  all,'  he  added, 
1  it  shall  not  be  said  at  your  father's  house  that 
[263] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

you  worked  for  me.  Nor  that  you  lacked  aught 
it  became  you  to  have,  neither,'  he  added,  with 
a  quick  heat  of  temper.  '  Get  to  your  house.' 

"  I  slunk  off,  crying  like  a  child,  while  he  went 
back  to  the  mud — and  the  labor. 

"  Next  day  came  Pagan  to  pay  for  the  work 
that  was  done.  He  drove  up  in  his  smart  cart, 
and  tiptoed  his  way  daintily  to  the  edge  of  the 
spruit  where  the  bricks  lay.  He  was  an  old 
man,  very  cleanly  dressed,  with  hard  white  hair 
on  his  head  and  face,  and  a  quick  manner  of 
looking  from  side  to  side  like  a  little  bird.  In 
all  his  aspect  there  was  nothing  but  spoke  of 
easy  wealth  and  the  serenity  of  a  well-ordered 
life ;  there  was  even  that  unkindly  sharpness  of 
tone  and  manner  that  is  a  dead-weight  on  the 
well-to-do.  My  husband  was  at  work  when  he 
drove  up,  but  he  straightened  his  back,  squared 
his  broad  shoulders,  and  came  up  from  the  mud, 
walking  at  the  full  of  his  height  and  smil- 
ing down  at  the  rich  man  with  half-closed 
eyes. 

" '  Daag,  Heer  Pagan,'  he  said  to  him,  in  the 
tone  of  one  who  needs  and  desires  nothing,  and 
[264] 


HER    OWN    STORY 

held  out  his  hand — mud  from  the  elbow — with 
something  lordly  in  the  gesture.  The  rich  man 
cocked  his  head  quickly,  in  the  way  he  had,  and 
hung  in  the  breeching  for  a  moment,  ere  he 
rendered  his  hand  to  Kernel,  with  a  reddening 
of  the  cheek  above  his  white  whisker  that  be- 
trayed him,  I  thought,  for  a  paltry  soul. 

"  '  I've  come  to  see  your  bricks,'  he  said  curtly, 
'  and  to  pay  for  'em,  if  they're  all  right.' 

" '  Ah,  the  bricks,'  said  Kornel  airily.  '  Yes,  to 
be  sure.  There  they  are.  Go  and  count  them, 
if  you  like,  and  then  you  can  come  to  me  at  my 
house  where  the  Vrouw  du  Plessis  (which  was 
me)  will  give  us  some  coffee.' 

"  I  was  watching,  you  may  be  sure,  and 
again  I  saw  the  wintry  red  swell  above  the 
white  whisker,  and  I  clenched  my  hands  in 
wrath  and  contempt  at  the  creature's  littleness. 
I  was  sure  he  would  have  liked  to  sweep  my 
man's  courtesy  aside,  and  certainly  the  polite- 
ness had  a  prick  in  it.  He  was  rich,  and  old, 
and  fat,  with  a  consequence  in  his  mien  and  an 
air  that  hinted  he  was  used  to  deference,  and 
Kornel  was  but  a  muddy  brick-moulder.  Yet 
[265] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

there  stood  my  man,  so  easy  in  his  quiet 
speech,  so  sure  of  himself,  so  dangerous  a  tar- 
get for  contempt,  that  the  rich  man  only  stam- 
mered. Kernel  nodded  as  though  he  under- 
stood the  invitation  to  be  accepted,  and  walked 
up  to  the  house,  leaving  old  Pagan  to  count  the 
bricks  and  follow. 

"I  kissed  him  as  he  came  in.  'You've 
trampled  his  dirty  soul  under  your  heel,'  I  said, 
1  and  I  love  you  for  it  I  love  to  see  you  up- 
right and  a  man  of  purpose  ;  whatever  comes  of 
it,  I  shall  honor  you  always.' 

"  He  kissed  me  and  laughed.  '  Nothing  will 
happen,  if  we  are  lucky/  he  said.  '  There  is 
more  in  John  Pagan  than  the  big  stomach  and 
the  money.  But  we  mustn't  crawl  to  him  ;  I'll 
wager  he  never  crawled  himself  when  he  was 
poor.' 

"I  set  the  coffee  ready,  spreading  the 
table  with  a  fine  cloth  I  had  brought  from  Ker- 
nel's farm,  one  of  the  few  things  we  had  taken 
with  us,  and  presently  in  came  old  Pagan. 
Directly  I  saw  him  I  felt  a  doubt  of  him ;  there 
was  a  kind  of  surreptitious  viciousness  showing 
[266] 


HER    OWN    STORY 

in  his  sour  smile  that  warned  me.  He  was  like 
a  man  who  is  brewing  an  unpleasant  joke. 

"  '  Ah,  Mrs.  du  Plessis,'  he  said,  '  your  man 
will  have  been  working  very  hard.' 

"  '  You  know  what  brick-moulding  is,  then  ? ' 
I  said. 

"  He  grinned.  '  A  little,'  he  said  ;  '  yes,  a  lit- 
tle. There's  few  jobs  I  haven't  put  a  hand  to  in 
my  time.  Work's  a  fine  thing,  when  a  man 
knows  how  to  work.' 

" '  You  are  very  right,'  agreed  Kernel. 

" '  This  is  good  coffee,'  said  John  Pagan,  as 
he  stirred  his  cup.  '  In  fact,  it's  better  than  the 
bricks.' 

"'A  better  hand  was  at  work  on  it,'  said 
Kornel. 

"'So  I  should  judge,'  answered  Pagan 
sleekly.  'I  should  like  another  cup  of  this 
coffee,  if  I  may  trouble  you,  Mrs.  du  Plessis.' 

"  He  laid  his  cup  on  the  table  and  bit  his 
nails  while  I  filled  it,  glancing  round  at  my 
poor  room  the  while  and  smiling  to  himself. 

"  Yes,'  he  said,  '  I  like  the  coffee,  but  I  don't 
like  the  bricks.  They're  no  good  at  all.' 

[267] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

"  We  both  stared  at  him,  silent  and  aghast, 
and  the  white-haired  old  man  chuckled  in  our 
stricken  faces. 

"  '  What  is  wrong  with  them  ? '  demanded 
Kernel  at  last.  His  face  was  white,  but  he 
spoke  quite  naturally. 

"'Aha!'  laughed  old  Pagan.  'Ye  see, 
there's  no  trade-  that  ye  can  take  up  without 
a  bit  o'  learning,  not  even  makin'  mud-bricks. 
The  very  same  thing  happened  to  me.  Lord, 
it's  past  forty  years  ago !  I  turned  out  six 
hundred  dozen,  and  had  'em  thrown  on  my 
hands.  It  nearly  broke  my  heart' 

"  '  I  can  understand  that,'  said  Kernel.  '  But 
what  is  wrong  with  my  bricks  ? ' 

"Old  Pagan  set  his  cup  back  on  the  table 
and  sat  up  in  his  chair.  As  he  began  to  speak 
he  hitched  back  the  sleeves  of  his  coat  and 
moved  his  neck  in  his  white  collar. 

"'See  here!'  he  said.  'It's  a  little  thing, 
like  turning  up  the  toe  of  a  horseshoe,  but  just 
as  essential.  When  ye  set  your  full  moulds 
out  to  dry,  did  ye  set  'em  on  edge,  to  drain 
away  the  water?  Ye  did  not?  Well,  that's 
[268] 


HER    OWN    STORY 

what's  wrong.  They're  just  mud-pies — lumps 
o'  damp  dirt,  that'll  crumble  as  soon  as  they're 
dry.  There's  ninety  dozen  of  'em,  by  my  count, 
and  there'll  not  be  three  dozen  that  ye  could 
use  in  any  way  consistent  wi'  conscience.  Do 
ye  take  my  meanin'  ?  ' 

"  Kornel  nodded  very  thoughtfully. 

"'Well,  you'll  just  need  to  get  to  work 
again,'  said  the  old  man.  '  Maybe  I'm  not  ex- 
actly keen  on  greetings  and  invitations  and  the 
like,  but  you'll  not  be  able  to  teach  me  anything 
on  bricks.  So  if  ye' re  thinking  anything 
about  the  splendor  o'  your  work,  wait  till  ye' re 
master  of  it  before  you  waste  more  thought. 
I'm  your  better  as  a  craftsman,'  he  said,  with  a 
glance  towards  me. 

"I  was  red  all  over,  what  with  shame  and 
sorrow,  but  I  marked  that  the  paltriness  seemed 
to  have  gone  from  John  Pagan  as  soon  as  he 
began  to  talk  of  work.  He  turned  then  to 
Kornel  with  a  briskness  that  was  not  unkindly. 

" '  I  was  relying  on  you  for  bricks,'  he  said, 
'  for  you  can  work,  and  that's  a  fact.  Perhaps 
you  can  let  me  have  a  hundred  dozen  by 
[269] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

Thursday,  eh?  I'm  waitin'  on  them.  And  if 
you  make  sure  of  it,  I'll  do  wi'  ye  what's  my 
common  custom,  and  that's  pay  half  the  price 
in  advance.  How' 11  that  suit  ? ' 

"  Kernel  rose  from  his  chair  and  stammered 
thanks,  and  John  Pagan  paid  the  money  on  to 
the  table. 

"  '  I'll  be  down  on  Thursday  to  see  the  bricks,' 
he  said,  '  and  don't  forget  the  dodge  I  told  ye. 
And  maybe  Mrs.  du  Plessis'll  be  willing  to  give 
me  coffee  again  when  I  come.  So  good-day  to 
ye,  and  mind — drain  'em  1 ' 

"  When  he  was  gone  Kernel  and  I  looked  at 
each  other  and  laughed  emptily.  Then  he  went 
out  to  the  mud  again  to  make  ready  for  Thurs- 
day. 

"So  it  was  we  lived  for  a  time  that  was 
shorter  than  it  seemed,  building  on  the  mud  of 
our  shaky  fortunes  a  pride  that  our  poverty 
could  not  overturn.  Kernel  had  a  saying  that 
seemed  irreligious  but  very  true.  'There  are 
ministers  and  farmers  and  lawyers  who  are 
rich,'  he  would  observe,  *  but  there's  no  money 
in  work.'  I  have  since  been  won  to  believe 
[270] 


HER    OWN    STORY 

that  there  is  a  flaw  in  the  argument,  but  for  us 
it  was  true,  and  bitterly  true.  We  were  never 
on  the  right  side  of  ten  shillings;  we  were 
never  out  of  sight  of  the  thin  brink  of  want. 
That  we  were  preserved  and  kept  clear  of  dis- 
aster was  due  only  to  the  toil  of  Kornel  and  my 
own  anxious  care  for  the  spending  of  the  money. 
I  found  out  that  a  wife  who  is  strong  has  a  great 
trade  to  drive  in  upholding  her  house ;  and  I, 
at  any  rate,  was  proficient  in  maintaining  clean- 
liness, in  buying  and  making  food,  and  preserv- 
ing to  my  home  the  atmosphere  of  happiness 
and  welcome  that  anchors  a  man  to  his  own 
place.  Take  it  all  in  all,  we  were  happy,  and 
yet  I  would  not  pretend  that  there  were  not 
grim  hours  when  we  wondered  if  the  mere  liv- 
ing were  worth  all  that  it  cost.  Kornel,  hard  as 
iron  always,  grew  lean  and  stooped,  and  there 
appeared  in  his  face  a  kind  of  wild  care  that 
frightened  me.  From  the  chill  upcoming  of  the 
dawn  to  the  rising  of  the  wind  at  evening  he 
taxed  himself  remorselessly  at  the  sorry  work 
in  the  mud,  while  I  scrubbed  and  scraped  and 
plotted  and  prayed  to  make  the  meagre  pay 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

cover  wants  that  were  pared  meagre  enough. 
Yes,  there  were  certainly  times  when  we  thought 
the  cost  too  great,  but,  God  be  praised,  we 
never  thought  it  at  the  same  moment,  and  the 
stronger  always  upheld  the  weaker. 

"  And  there  was  never  any  shame  in  the  mat- 
ter. Even  as  we  feared  nothing,  we  were  never 
ashamed.  Never ! 

"One  morning,  about  an  hour  before  high 
sun,  when  the  dust  lay  thick  on  the  road  into 
the  town  that  passed  our  land,  and  the  neigh- 
borhood around  was  feverish  with  the  fuss  of 
the  Kafirs  and  yellow  folk,  I  stood  for  a 
moment  at  my  door,  looking  down  to  where 
Kernel  was  fervently  at  work  in  the  spruit. 
There  was  always  traffic  on  the  road  at  that 
hour,  and  something  drew  me  to  look  towards 
it.  At  once  I  saw  my  father.  He  was  riding 
in,  dressed  in  his  black  clothes,  very  solemn 
and  respectable,  with  his  beard  flowing  over  his 
chest.  At  the  same  moment  he  saw  me,  and 
seemed  to  start  in  his  saddle  and  glance  quickly 
at  all  about — at  my  poor  little  house,  the  litter 
that  lay  about,  the  squalor  of  the  town-end  we 
[272] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

lived  in,  and  the  laborious  bent  back  of  my  man 
as  he  squattered  about  in  the  mud.  He  checked 
his  horse  an  instant,  as  though  by  an  impulse ; 
for  my  father,  though  I  honored  him,  was  a 
weak  man,  in  whom  no  purpose  was  steadfast. 
I  saw  the  wavering  in  his  face  and  the  uncer- 
tainty of  his  big  pale  eyes ;  and  then,  half-nod- 
ding to  me  as  though  in  an  embarrassment,  he 
pushed  on  and  entered  the  town.  I  went  down 
and  told  Kornel. 

"  '  H'm ! '  He  stood  as  though  in  thought, 
looking  up  to  me  from  the  water.  'Your 
father,  eh  ?  Would  you  like  him  to  come  and 
see  you?' 

"  I  nodded. 

"  He  laughed  and  climbed  up  the  bank  to 
me.  '  So  would  I,'  he  said.  '  I  have  a  stiffness 
in  my  back  that  makes  me  inclined  for  any- 
thing rather  than  this  work.  Even  your 
father.' 

"  We  walked  up  to  the  house  together,  and 
Kernel's  brow  was  creased  with  thought,  while 
his  lips  smiled. 

"  '  You  see/  he  said,  '  we  want  nothing  from 
[273] 


HER    OWN    STORY 

him — nothing  at  all,  so  we  can't  afford  to  be 
humble.  Have  we  any  money  at  all  ? ' 

"  '  We  have  three  shillings,'  I  answered,  '  and 
I  owe  one  shilling  for  food.' 

" '  That's  not  enough,'  he  said,  shaking  his 
head.  'You  say  he  saw  me  working?  We 
must  have  thirty  shillings  at  least;  we  must 
treat  him  well ;  I  can't  let  him  off  now  that  he 
has  seen  so  much.  We'll  stuff  him  till  he 
bulges  like  a  rotten  cask,  and  wishes  he  could 
make  bricks  as  I  can.  I  wonder  if  Pagan 
would  pay  me  in  advance  for  a  thousand  dozen. 
I'll  go  and  ask  him.' 

"  He  started  for  the  door  at  once,  but  turned 
and  came  back  to  me. 

" '  He  said  once  he  had  nothing  to  give  me,' 
he  whispered  to  me.  '  Do  you  grudge  me  this, 
kleintje?' 

" '  Not  I,'  I  answered.  '  I  only  wish  we  could 
do  more.' 

"  He  kissed  me  and  was  off  in  a  moment. 
Pagan  made  no  difficulty  about  the  money. 
He  looked  at  Kernel  shrewdly  when  my  man 
made  the  request,  and  paid  at  once. 

[=74] 


HER    OWN    STORY 

" '  It  suits  me  ye  should  be  a  wee  thing  in 
my  debt,'  he  said.  'But  you're  so  damned 
proud,  there's  times  I'm  scared  o'  ye.  Sign 
yer  name  here.' 

" '  Now,'  said  Kornel,  when  he  had  put  the 
money  in  my  hand,  '  get  what  you  need  for  a 
dinner  that  will  tickle  the  ou  pa's  stomach,  and 
a  bottle  of  whiskey.  There  never  was  a  deacon 
that  did  not  suffer  from  some  complaint  that 
whiskey  would  ease ;  and  I'll  get  into  what 
clean  clothes  I  have  and  go  to  look  for 
him.' 

"So  I  bought  the  dinner.  I  was  willing 
enough  to  suffer  the  emptiness  to  come,  if  only 
I  could  wipe  from  my  father's  memory  his  im- 
pression of  my  man's  poverty ;  but  all  the  same, 
in  case  he  should  refuse  to  visit  us,  I  bought 
things  that  would  last  long  enough  to  serve 
ourselves  until  the  thirty  shillings  should  have 
been  earned.  They  made  a  good  show :  for  I 
have  never  been  a  fool  in  the  matter  of  food, 
and  I  knew  my  father's  tastes.  I  promised  my- 
self that  his  dinner  should  be  his  chief  memory 
of  that  day,  at  all  events.  He  was,  I  fear,  the 
[275] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

kind  of  man  who  remembers  his  good  dinners 
better  than  anything  else. 

"  It  was  a  long  time  before  they  came,  and  I 
had  given  up  all  hope  of  the  visit  when  I  heard 
their  voices.  Or  rather,  it  was  Kernel's  voice 
that  I  heard,  in  a  tone  of  careless  civility,  like 
one  who  performs  a  casual  duty  of  politeness. 
He  was  talking  nonsense  in  a  slow  drawl,  and 
as  they  picked  their  way  from  the  road  to  the 
house  my  father  looked  up  to  him  in  a  kind  of 
wonder. 

" '  The  evenings  are  pleasant  here,'  Kernel 
was  saying.  '  We  have  a  little  time  to  our- 
selves then,  for  people  have  learned  at  last  not 
to  trouble  us  much.  One  sees  the  sun  go  down 
yonder  across  the  hills,  and  it  is  very  pretty. 
Now,  on  the  farm,  nobody  ever  knew  how 
handsome  the  sunset  is.  We  were  like  Kafirs 
on  the  farm ;  but  life  in  the  town  is  quite  dif- 
ferent.' 

"  He  chattered  on  in  the  same  strain,  and  my 
father  was  plainly  dazed  by  it,  so  that  his  judg- 
ment was  all  fogged,  and  he  took  the  words  at 
their  face-value.  I  noticed  that  my  father 
[276] 


HER    OWN    STORY 

seemed  a  little  abashed  and  doubtful :  it  was 
easy  to  see  that  this  was  the  opposite  of  what 
he  had  expected. 

"  He  greeted  me  with  a  touch  of  hesitation 
in  his  manner ;  but  I  kissed  him  on  the  forehead 
and  tried  to  appear  a  fortunate  daughter — 
smiling  assuredly,  you  know,  glad  to  exercise 
hospitality  and  to  receive  my  father  in  my  own 
house.  It  was  not  all  seeming,  either ;  for  I 
had  no  shame  in  my  condition  and  my  hus- 
band's fortune, — only  a  resentment  for  those 
who  affected  to  expect  it. 

" '  You  are  looking  well,'  said  my  father, 
staring  at  me.  '  How  do  you  like  the  life  you 
are  living  ? ' 

"  Kornel  smiled  boldly  across  to  me,  and  I 
laughed. 

" '  I  was  never  so  happy  in  my  life,'  I  an- 
swered— and  that,  at  any  rate,  was  true. 

"  My  father  grunted,  and  sat  listening  to  the 
gentle  flow  of  talk  with  which  Kornel  gagged 
him  the  while  I  busied  myself  with  the  last  turn 
of  the  cooking  and  set  the  table  to  rights.  But 
he  glanced  at  me  from  time  to  time  with  some- 
[277] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

thing  of  surprise  and  disapproval ;  perhaps  a 
white  woman  with  no  Kafir  servant  had  never 
met  his  eyes  before.  Kornel  did  not  miss  the 
expression  of  his  face. 

" '  We  will  show  you  something  new  in  the 
dinner  line,'  he  remarked  knowingly.  'There 
are  things  you  can't  teach  to  a  Kafir,  you  know.' 

"  '  What  things  ? '  demanded  my  father. 

"  'Ah,  you  shall  see  in  a  moment,'  answered 
Kornel,  nodding  mysteriously.  '  Christina  will 
show  you.  Have  you  ever  heard  of  a  ragout?' 

"  My  father  shook  his  head.  Neither  had  I ; 
but  I  held  my  tongue. 

" '  Well,'  said  Kornel,  '  a  ragout  is  a  fowl 
cooked  as  Christina  has  cooked  it.  It  is  a  very 
favorite  dish  among  the  rich  men  in  Johannes- 
burg. If  you  will  draw  up  your  chair  to  the 
table  you  shall  see.' 

"  It  is  true  that  I  had  a  good  hand  with  a 
fowl,  stewed  in  a  fashion  of  my  own,  which  was 
mainly  the  outcome  of  ignorance  and  emer- 
gency ;  but  it  was  very  fortunate  that  on  that 
day  of  all  days  the  contrivance  should  have 
turned  out  so  well.  It  was  tender,  and  the  flesh 
[278] 


HER    OWN    STORY 

was  seasoned  to  just  the  right  flavor  by  the 
stuff  I  stewed  with  it — certain  herbs,  Katje,  and 
a  hint  of  a  whiff  of  garlic.  Garlic  is  a  thing  you 
must  not  play  with :  like  sin,  you  can  never 
undo  it,  whatever  forgiveness  you  win.  But  a 
leaf  or  two  bruised  between  two  clean  pebbles, 
and  the  pebbles  boiled  with  the  stew,  spices  the 
whole  thing  as  a  touch  of  devil  spices  a 
man. 

"  You  may  be  sure  I  was  anxious  about  it, 
and  watched  Kernel  and  my  pa  as  they  started 
to  eat.  Kernel  swallowed  his  first  mouthful 
with  an  appearance  of  keen  judgment ;  then  he 
winked  swiftly  to  me,  and  nodded  slightly.  It 
was  his  praise  of  the  dish.  Oh,  if  you  had 
known  my  man,  you  would  not  need  telling 
that  that  was  enough  for  me.  My  father  com- 
menced to  eat  as  though  curious  of  the  food  be- 
fore him.  He  gave  no  sign  of  liking  or  other- 
wise ;  but  presently  he  squared  his  shoulders, 
drew  his  chair  closer  to  the  table,  and  gave  his 
mind  to  the  matter. 

"  '  That's  right,  walk  into  it,'  said  Kernel. 

" '  It  is  very  good  indeed,'  said  my  father, 
[279] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

eating  thoughtfully,  and  presently  I  helped  him 
to  some  more.  Kernel  gave  him  soda-water 
with  whiskey  in  it,  and  thereafter  there  were 
other  things  to  eat — nearly  thirty  shillings' 
worth.  After  that  they  sat  and  smoked,  and 
drank  the  strong  coffee  I  made  for  them,  and 
passed  the  whiskey  bottle  to  and  fro  between 
them.  All  the  while  Kornel  babbled  amiably 
of  foolish  things,  sunsets,  and  Shakespeare  and 
the  ways  of  women,  till  I  caught  myself  won- 
dering whether  indeed  he  relished  the  change 
from  the  wide  clean  veld  of  the  farm  to  this 
squalid  habitation  of  toil. 

" '  I  suppose,'  said  my  father  at  last,  when 
Kornel  had  finished  talking  about  sunsets, — '  I 
suppose  a  ragoo,  as  you  call  it,  is  very  ex- 
pensive to  make  ? ' 

" '  I  really  couldn't  say,'  answered  Kornel. 
'  But  I  should  think  not' 

"  '  H'm  ;  and  you  think  a  Kafir  could  not  be 
taught  to  make  them  ? ' 

"  Kornel  laughed.  '  I  should  be  sorry  to  try,' 
he  said. 

"  My  father  pondered  on  that  for  a  while, 
[280] 


HER    OWN    STORY 

smoking  strongly  and  glancing  from  time  to 
time  at  me. 

"  '  I'm  growing  an  old  man,'  he  said  at  last, 
'  and  old  men  are  lonely  at  the  best.' 

"  '  Some  seem  to  wish  it,'  said  Kernel. 

"  '  I  say  they  are  lonely,'  repeated  my  father 
sharply.  'I  have  no  wife,  and  I  cannot  be 
bothered  with  getting  another  at  my  time  of 
life.'  He  shook  his  gray  head  sadly.  'Not 
that  I  should  have  to  look  far  for  one,'  he 
added,  however. 

"  Kernel  laughed,  and  my  father  looked  at 
him  angrily. 

" '  If  it  had  not  been  for  you,'  he  said,  '  I 
should  still  have  had  my  daughter  Christina  to 
live  with  me.  I  am  tired  of  being  alone,  and  I 
cannot  nurse  the  wrong  done  me  by  my  own 
flesh  and  blood.  You  and  Christina  had  better 
come  out  to  the  farm  and  live  with  me.' 

"  '  And  leave  my  business  ? '  asked  Kernel. 

"  '  Oh,  there  is  mud  and  water  on  the  farm,  if 
your  business  pleases  you,'  retorted  my  father. 
'  But  out  there  we  do  not  take  the  bread  out  of 
the  mouths  of  Kafirs.' 

[281] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

" '  I  see,'  answered  Kernel  briefly  ;  and  I,  who 
watched  him,  knew  from  his  voice  that  there  was 
to  be  no  truce  after  that,  that  we  should  still 
earn  our  livelihood  by  the  mud  bricks. 

"  '  You  will  come  ? '  asked  my  father. 

" '  Good  Lord,  no  ! '  replied  Kornel.  '  You 
would  weary  me  to  death  in  a  week.  I  don't 
mind  being  civil  when  we  meet,  but  live  with 
you  !  It  would  be  to  make  oneself  a  vegetable.' 

"  My  father  heard  him  out  with  a  grave  face, 
and  then  rose  to  his  feet.  There  was  a  stateli- 
ness  in  his  manner  that  grieved  me,  for  when  a 
man  meets  a  rebuff  with  silence  and  dignity  he 
is  aging. 

"  '  You  are  right,  perhaps,'  he  said.  '  I  don't 
know,  but  you  may  be.  Anyhow,  I  have  en- 
joyed an  excellent  meal,  and  I  thank  you. 
Good-bye,  Christina ! ' 

"  When  he  was  gone,  Kornel  turned  to  me. 

"  '  It  is  evident  you  cannot  have  both  a  hus- 
band and  a  father,'  he  said  ;  '  but  I  am  sorry  for 
the  rudeness,  kleintje.  He  is  a  greater  man 
than  I.' 

" '  I  think  you   might   have  made  it  other- 

[282] 


HER    OWN    STORY 

wise,'  I  answered,  for  my  heart  ached  for  my 
father. 

"He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  '  You  must 
manage  to  forgive  me,'  he  said.  'I  have  a 
thousand  dozen  bricks  to  make,  and  that  will  be 
punishment  enough.' 

" '  But  you  will  not  start  again  to-night  1 '  I 
cried,  for  it  was  already  the  thin  end  of  evening, 
and  he  was  taking  off  his  clean  clothes. 

" '  A  thousand  dozen  is  a  big  handful,'  he  an- 
swered, smiling.  '  There's  nothing  like  getting 
a  grip  on  the  work  ahead.' 

"So  in  a  few  minutes  he  was  down  in  the 
water  again,  and  the  mud  flew  as  he  worked  at 
the  heart-breaking  task  he  had  taken  upon  him. 
After  all,  the  '  ragout '  was  expensive  to  make. 
It  came  dearer  than  we  expected. 

"  Late  into  the  night  he  held  on,  though 
thrice  I  went  out  to  the  bank  of  the  stream  to 
beg  him  to  quit  it  and  come  to  bed.  There  was 
a  great  pale  moon  that  night,  which  threw  up 
the  colors  of  things  strongly,  and  I  have  yet  in 
my  mind — and  my  heart — that  picture, — the 
stained  water,  and  the  bank  of  gray  mud  over  it, 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

and  between  the  two  my  Kernel  bent  over  the 
endless  boxes,  vehemently  working  with  no  con- 
sideration for  the  limits  of  his  strength.  His 
arms  gleamed  with  the  wet,  and  were  ceaseless ; 
he  might  have  been  a  dumb  machine,  without 
capacity  for  weariness.  If  he  had  toiled  before, 
now  he  toiled  doubly  ;  there  was  a  trouble  in  his 
mind  to  be  sweated  out  and  a  debt  of  money  to 
be  repaid.  And  also,  like  a  peril  always  near 
at  hand,  there  was  the  thin  margin  that  stood 
between  us  and  starvation. 

"When  he  came  to  bed  at  length,  he  lay 
down  without  the  greeting  he  was  wont  to  give 
me — lapsed  into  his  place  beside  me  with  the 
limpness  of  a  man  spent  to  the  utmost  ounce. 
He  slept  without  turning  on  his  side,  his  worn 
hands,  half-closed,  lying  loosely  on  the  quilt. 
Yet  within  an  hour  after  daylight  he  rose  with 
narrow,  sleep-burdened  eyes,  fumbled  into  his 
clothes,  and  staggered  out  to  the  spruit  again, 
to  resume  his  merciless  work  with  the  very 
fever  of  energy.  The  Kafirs  that  worked 
leisurely  on  the  next  plot  stopped  to  look  at 
him  and  to  wonder  at  the  speed  with  which  the 
[284] 


HER    OWN    STORY 

rows  of  drying  bricks  lengthened  and  multiplied. 
I  saw  them  pointing  as  I  stood  at  the  door, 
heavy-hearted  and  anxious,  and  envied  the  ease 
of  their  manner  of  life,  and  the  simplicity  that 
could  be  content  with  such  work  at  such  a  wage. 
Yes,  I  have  envied  Kafirs,  Katje ;  there  are 
times  for  all  women  when  we  envy  the  dead. 

"But  it  was  the  day  after  that  that  the 
trouble  came  upon  us,  great  and  violent  and 
unawaited.  Kernel  had  been  up  at  daybreak 
again,  working  as  strongly  as  ever,  though  his 
mouth  was  loose  with  the  strain  and  his  face 
very  yellow  and  white.  The  drying  and  the 
dry  bricks  were  lying  on  the  ground  in  long 
rows,  and  some  which  were  hard  were  already 
stacked  to  make  room  for  others.  It  was  a  tre- 
mendous output  for  one  man  in  the  time  it  had 
taken ;  and  when  the  Kafirs  turned  out,  gab- 
bling and  laughing  as  usual,  they  stopped  to 
look  in  surprise  at  our  plot  and  the  great  quan- 
tity of  bricks.  They  gathered  in  a  group,  and 
talked  among  themselves  and  pointed,  and 
presently  I  was  aware  there  was  something 
toward.  One  of  them  in  particular, — a  great 
[285] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

brown  brute,  with  bulky  shoulders  and  huge 
arms,  seemed  to  be  concerned  in  the  affair ;  he 
stared  continually  towards  Kornel,  and  talked 
loudly,  his  voice  running  up  into  the  squeak  of 
a  Kafir  when  he  is  excited,  or  angry,  or  afraid  ; 
and  presently  he  stepped  over  our  border  line 
and  walked  down  to  the  bricks.  He  was  jab- 
bering to  himself  all  the  time  as  he  stooped  and 
picked  up  bricks  and  examined  them  closely, 
and  glanced  down  to  the  spruit  where  Kornel 
was  still  working. 

"  I  watched  him,  but  I  said  nothing,  hoping 
he  would  go  away  before  Kornel  saw  him ; 
but  he  kept  on,  and  presently  my  man  looked 
up. 

"  He  saw  the  Kafir  at  once,  and  climbed  up 
the  bank  pretty  quickly.  There  was  something 
like  a  smile  on  his  face,  a  look  as  though  he 
had  found  the  relief  he  needed.  He  walked 
swiftly  over  to  the  Kafir. 

"  'What  are  you  doing  here?'  he  demanded, 
keeping  his  eyes  unwinkingly  on  the  staring 
eyes  of  the  Kafir. 

"  The  latter  held  a  dried  brick  in  his  great 
[286] 


HER    OWN    STORY 

paw,  and  now  he  thrust  it  forward  and  broke 
into  a  torrent  of  speech.  He  accused  Kernel  of 
having  trespassed  in  the  night  and  stolen  the 
bricks  of  the  Kafirs.  No  man,  he  said,  could 
have  made  so  many  by  himself,  and  then  he 
began  to  call  names.  I  shuddered  and  put  my 
hands  before  my  face,  and  took  them  down 
again  in  time  to  see  Kernel's  fist  fly  up  and 
out,  and  the  great  Kafir  reel  back  from  a 
vicious  blow  in  the  face. 

"  But  he  gave  way  for  a  moment  only.  Next 
instant  he  recovered  and  his  huge  arm  rose, 
and  I  screamed  and  ran  forward  as  the  brick, 
dry  and  hard  as  a  stone,  struck  Kornel  on  the 
head  and  tumbled  him,  loosely  like  a  dead  man, 
among  the  rows  of  bricks  about  him.  I  did  not 
see  the  Kafir  run  away ;  I  saw  only  the  thin 
white  face  of  my  man  turned  up  to  the  sun,  and 
the  blood  that  ran  from  his  brown  hair.  I 
lifted  his  head  and  called  to  him ;  but  his  head 
lolled  on  his  shoulders,  and  I  let  him  lie  while  I 
ran  out  crying  to  find  help. 

"  It  was  some  of  the  yellow  folk  who  carried 
him  in  for  me,  and  brought  the  German  doctor. 
[287] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

Kernel  was  on  the  bed  when  he  came,  and  he 
caused  the  cut  to  be  bandaged,  and  then  spoke 
abstrusely  of  the  effect  of  the  blow,  so  that  I 
understood  nothing  at  all.  I  learned,  however, 
how  I  was  to  tend  him,  how  feed  him,  and  how 
he  would  lie  unconscious  for  long  intervals 
when  there  would  be  nothing  at  all  to  do  for 
him.  But  he  told  me  I  had  nothing  to  fear  in 
the  end.  Indeed,  he  had  a  kind  of  cheeriness 
which  seems  to  belong  to  doctors,  which  did 
much  to  comfort  me  and  steady  me  for  what 
was  to  come.  Kernel  would  not  die,  he  said ; 
and  it  was  that  assurance  I  chiefly  needed. 

"  The  day  went  slowly  for  me,  I  can  tell  you. 
There  was  yet  food  enough  in  the  house  to  last 
us  a  little  while,  and  I  made  a  mess  for  Kernel, 
and  ate  what  I  wanted  myself.  He  recovered 
his  sense  of  things  once  or  twice,  but  when 
night  came  he  dropped  off  again  into  a  stupor 
from  which  he  was  not  to  be  roused,  and 
it  was  then  I  left  him.  I  felt  as  though  I  were 
a  traitor  to  him  in  his  weakness ;  but  my  mind 
had  buzzed  hopelessly  all  day  about  the  prob- 
lem of  our  mere  living,  and  I  saw  nothing  else 
[288] 


HER    OWN    STORY 

for  it,  so  down  I  went  to  the  spruit  to  earn  what 
I  might  for  my  sick  husband. 

"The  moon  gave  me  light,  and  I  had 
watched  Kernel  often  enough  to  know  how  to 
go  about  the  work.  But  the  water,  as  it  flowed 
about  my  legs,  bit  me  with  a  chill  that  made 
me  gasp,  and  the  effort  of  the  work,  the  con- 
stant bending  and  lifting,  tried  every  muscle  in 
my  body.  I  had  seen  the  cruelty  of  the  work 
in  its  traces  on  Kernel,  and  knew  how  little  it 
gave  and  how  much  it  took ;  but  with  this  first 
trial  of  it  came  the  realization,  never  lost  since, 
of  how  gallant  a  man  I  had  chosen  to  stand  be- 
tween me  and  the  world,  and  how  much  I  owed 
him.  I  had  not  time  to  think  a  great  deal,  for 
the  torture  of  brick-making  is  partly  in  the  fact 
that  while  it  wrenches  the  body,  it  joins  the 
mind  to  its  infinite  triviality.  If  you  think,  you 
do  not  pack  the  mud  as  it  must  be  packed,  and 
the  sun  crumbles  your  bricks  to  dust.  It  is  no 
task  for  a  real  man  at  all ;  even  for  a  woman,  it 
debases,  it  unmakes,  it  breaks. 

"I  worked  hard  at  it,  husbanding  my 
strength,  and  within  an  hour  I  was  weak  and 
[289] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

foolish  with  the  effort.  Twice  I  had  left  it  to 
go  in  and  see  if  all  was  well  with  Kornel,  and 
this  rested  me ;  but  I  was  now  resolved  that  I 
must  rest  no  more,  if  ever  our  debt  was  to  be  paid 
and  bread  earned  for  the  grim  days  to  come.  So 
I  stayed  in  the  bitter  water  and  worked  on,  till 
even  the  sense  of  pain  was  dulled  and  it  seemed 
that  I  was  past  the  capacity  of  feeling. 

"  I  was  toiling  thus  (never  mind  my  old 
troubles,  Katje,  dear ;  this  is  years  ago)  when 
a  sound  came  to  my  ears  that  caused  me  to 
look  up.  It  had  been  going  on  for  some  time, 
persisting  till  it  gained  my  notice,  and  suddenly 
I  became  aware  that  there  were  men  on  our 
ground  among  the  bricks.  I  climbed  half-way 
up  the  bank  to  look  at  them,  where  they  could 
not  see  me  ;  and  I  saw  several  dark  figures  bent 
to  some  business  or  moving  here  and  there.  I 
caught  the  sound  of  hushed  voices,  too,  though 
no  words  ;  and  then  the  hot  wrath  set  my  blood 
racing  as  I  realized  what  was  going  on.  The 
Kafirs,  who  knew  my  man  was  wounded  and 
helpless — the  very  beast  who  had  felled  him — 
were  stealing  the  bricks  he  had  labored  so 
[290] 


HER    OWN    STORY 

stoutly  to  make.  My  head  swam  with  a  de- 
lirium of  vivid  anger  at  the  meanness  of  the 
crime,  and  without  calculation,  with  no  thought 
of  fear,  I  scrambled  up  and  ran  at  them,  shouting. 

"  I  suppose  they  were  surprised  at  my  coming 
out  of  the  spruit,  and  some  of  them  ran  as  soon 
as  they  heard  me.  Others  stood  and  waited 
ominously — you  know  what  a  Kafir  is  with  a 
woman, — and  doubtless  I  should  have  met  my 
last  earthly  troubles  then  and  there,  but  that 
from  the  road  beyond  us  there  were  other  shouts, 
and  men  came  running. 

"  I  saw  the  forms  of  the  rescuers  as  they  raced 
up,  and  marked  one  tall  young  man  who  ran 
past  me  with  iiis  arm  lifted  before  him.  There 
was  a  flash  and  a  bang,  and  I  sat  down  heavily 
as  the  white  men  shot  at  the  Kafirs  who  were 
now  all  running  to  cover.  It  took  but  an  in- 
stant, and  I  remember  it  as  one  remembers  a 
thing  seen  at  night  by  a  lightning  flash,  sharp 
and  feverish. 

"  '  Ye've  no  need  to  be  feared,'  some  one  said 
to  me.  '  They're  only  my  clerks,  but  they're  a 
handy  lot.' 

[291] 


TALES    FROM    THE    VELDT 

"  A  short  stout  man  was  standing  over  me, 
and  as  I  looked  up  I  saw  it  was  old  Pagan. 
Away  in  the  darkness  there  were  yet  cries  and 
the  sound  of  blows,  where  the  white  men  pur- 
sued the  Kafirs. 

" '  Ye  see/  continued  the  old  man,  '  I  heard 
o'  what  had  happened,  an'  I  counted  on  this. 
I'm  a  man  o'  experience,  Mrs.  du  Plessis,  an' 
the  very  same  thing  happened  to  me  once.  So 
I  got  a  few  o'  my  lads  along,  and  we've  been 
waitin'  for  what  ye  might  call  the  eventuality. 
I'm  no'  exactly  a  negrophilist,  ye  ken.  An' 
after  seein'  you  squatterin'  about  in  the  mud 
yonder,  while  yer  husband  was  sick  a-bed,  there 
was  no  holdin'  the  lads.  No'  that  I  endeavored 
to  restrain  them,  in  any  precise  sense.' 

"Away  in  the  darkness  a  Kafir  shrieked 
agonizedly. 

"  '  There  ye  are,'  said  the  old  man.  '  Yon's 
chivalry.  If  ye  had  been  a  man,  they'd  never 
ha'  put  their  hearts  into  it  like  that.' 

"  He  helped  me  to  my  feet  and  gave  me  an 
arm  towards  the  house. 

" '  There's  just  one  thing,'  he  said,  '  and  it's 
[292] 


HER    OWN    STORY 

this.  I'm  no'  quite  the  slave-driver  ye  might 
take  me  for — workin'  in  the  night  to  drag  a 
pittance  out  o'  me !  For  instance,  I've  a  job  in 
the  store  that  yer  man  can  have,  if  it'll  suit  him, 
and  if  you're  willing  yerself.  It's  no'  a  big 
thing,  but  it's  white.  And  for  the  present 
while,  I  dare  say  I  can  advance  ye  enough  to  be 
going  on  with.  And  me  and  the  lads  '11  say  no 
word  about  seein'  you  at  yer  work.' 

"  What  is  the  use  of  carrying  this  tale  on  ? 
It  was  there  we  ceased  to  have  the  troubles  that 
go  to  making  tales,  and  entered  upon  the  or- 
dered life  of  good  industry  and  clean  living. 
But,  Katje,  of  all  that  came  afterwards,  money 
and  success,  and  even  children,  there  was  noth- 
ing to  knit  us  as  did  the  sorry  months  by  the 
spruit,  when  my  Kernel  proved  himself  the  man 
I  knew  him  to  be.  Be  happy,  Katje ;  be  happy 
at  any  rate." 

I  think  she  has  been  happy. 


THE  END 


[293] 


DC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000034530     6 


